


And a Happy New Year

by wigglebox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ...well miscarriage mention, Anxiety Attacks, Car Accidents, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Military Families, Minor Character Death, Miscarriage, Miscommunication, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Secret Crush, Self-Doubt, Snowed In, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21773860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wigglebox/pseuds/wigglebox
Summary: Is it possible to thank a cursed, constantly breaking car for your relationship? What started as a mutual, hidden crush between Cas and Dean ends up being a first date and kiss just in time for Christmas. But, are they on the same page, and will the holiday magic last?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 83
Kudos: 280
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,  
> I love you simply, without problems or pride:  
> I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving.”  
> ― Pablo Neruda

**ONE**

The first chunk of change thrown at the car happened when the belt on Cas’s engine snapped on his way home from Rhode Island. 

Already annoyed he had to travel to Providence for business trip against Thanksgiving, Cas threw a fit on the side of the road, kicking the Mercedes in the tires, door, and front bumper. The thing existed to only give Cas problems. 

The car had to get towed all the way back to Darien, which the AAA tow-driver loved to hear on the night before the holiday. Cas winced as the guy yelled at him over the phone, already settling on giving him a hundred dollar tip despite the rant. He’d be pissed too. He _was_ pissed. His brother sold him a lemon, and Cas hoped the kinks would work themselves out and knock back into gear, but it never did. A fine piece of German engineering. 

The tow-truck arrived and the snatched the bill out of Cas’s hand before driving off without a word. 

The car wound up at Singer’s Auto Shop off Post Road well after they closed for the day. Cas drove by in the rental nearly two and a half hours later, checking to make sure the tow guy didn’t take his wheels or break the windows. 

According to the push alert on Cas’s phone, the car arrived at the shop around seven. The shop closed at five, but the car sat behind the electronic fence and barbed wire. A single light remained on in the back of the building, visible from the window facing the street. Cas felt a small smile tug at his face for the first time in forty-eight hours. 

A benefit of repeat service: get special treatment. 

Four days later the shop opened back up. 

Cas spent those four days sulking he couldn’t spend Thanksgiving at his usual place. Harrington’s, a semi-formal restaurant, famous for its wings, always held holiday parties, no matter the holiday. It was Cas’s only cause for celebration, and he missed the company. Watching the football game on his own TV didn’t have the same energy, and he turned it off before the first quarter ended. But, he didn’t dare drive that rental for any reason other than dire necessity.

The little Mitsubishi thing they gave him at T.F. Green barely made it up a hill without winding itself, wheezing and dragging itself up any slight incline. The drive back from Rhode Island had him white-knuckling the steering wheel the whole way, unable to book it faster than 60 mph on I-95 on the busiest travel day of the year. The pockets of traffic helped calm the engine down, but it still struggled the whole way through Connecticut and down to his home.

The tires were the size of dinner plates, and Cas winced at every pothole on Post Road it glanced by. He’d have to add more air to them before he returned the damn thing. What an absolute nuisance. 

The spit of a car coughed itself up to the parking lot, and some technicians on the other side of the fence standing next to a Suburban watched him. Heat rose to Cas’s face as they smirked. 

His Mercedes sat where it did on Wednesday, this time with the hood up and a man bent over, halfway into the engine. The small smile from days before returned to Cas’s face as he watched the man work. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a soft spot for him. Dean was always there to greet him; always there to take his issue and work on it as fast as possible; always had a smile on his own face when seeing Cas, and not one reserved only for customers. All of Cas’s previous visits been small things, a persistent check engine light or an oil change, and they all gave him the excuse to head to the shop for a couple minutes of interaction. 

Yanking the keys out of the ignition, Cas slid out of the clown car, slamming the door closed.

“You know, eventually it’ll just be cheaper to buy a new car,” Dean greeted Cas, head still down low and tinkering around under the hood. 

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Cas asked, crossing his arms as he approached closer, leaning over to look at the engine as well.

Dean sighed and backed out, wiping his hands on a rag and stuffing it back in his pocket, “The cooling belt snapped. You’re also gonna need a new tensioner.”

“And?”

“Probably looking at around fifteen-hundred.”

Cas’s heart sank, and he frowned but nodded in acknowledgment. There went some of his year-end bonus. He shoved it in a ‘don’t touch me’ bank account to save up for a two-week vacation in Hawaii in the spring; the prize at the end of the New England winter marathon.

“How long will it take?” he asked, staring at the engine like it would magically fix itself.

“About a week. A lot of people wreck their cars during Thanksgiving,” Dean said, reaching over to undo the support and carry the hood back down, closing it with a final metallic _clang_.

Disgust and frustration grew inside Cas, wishing he could go back in time and tell his brother _no_ , _no I don’t want this, thank you though_. He knew he looked like a pouting toddler, but damn did he just hate that car. He had half a mind to get the invoice and send it to Gabriel, telling him he had to pay this time. Cheap bastard. 

“The car’s over ten years old,” Dean said, running his fingers over the ornament, “Shit’s bound to break at some point. The Germans are good, but not that good.”

He punctuated his statement with a warm smile and Cas felt it melt his frosty mood. Returning the expression the best he could, he sighed and looked away over to the Suburban now up on the hydraulic lift. 

“Anything else need to be done?” he asked. The answer would be no, otherwise, Dean would have mentioned it, but he wanted to hear the guy talk some more, like usual. 

Cas never had a clue as to what Dean meant when talking cars, _what the hell was a tensioner?_ but he liked to listen, sometimes asking an extra question just to hear Dean keep talking. Life at home consisted of the humming of the furnace and television and work offered him no pleasant conversations with white-collared coworkers droning on and on about Jimmy’s soccer game that weekend.

With the current trip included, Cas had been to Singer’s shop six times since August, and each time he and Dean fell into some kind of easy conversation. It served as a break from the norm, as sporadic as it was. When the time came to go, Cas had to remind himself he was just a customer, and he was keeping someone from their job -- but the talks were nice. 

Cas had a small crush on his mechanic and rolled his eyes on the inside at the cliché. 

The rental barely got Cas to Friday. He opted to work from home instead of driving to White Plains, not trusting the thirty-minute commute. Like Cas predicted, pebble of a car had to have its tires pumped up after a ten minute trip to the grocery store and back. At the end of the week, Cas became convinced the model was meant to be a kid’s play car, but someone got the blueprints mixed up at corporate.

Friday morning came, and he never thought he’d miss his stupid Mercedes that much but absence made the heart stronger. In comparison to what he had from Hertz, he’ll take whatever he can get that wasn’t a clown car. 

The shop opened at eight and Cas got there ten minutes ahead of time, his Uber all but street racing down Route 1 in rush hour traffic. 

Cas stood outside the building, back against the cold brick, and watched as cars whizzed by. His coffee tasted disgusting, they put too many sugars in it, but he sipped it nonetheless, grateful for the warmth. 

At 8:01 Cas heard the lock turn, followed by the beeping of an armed security system from inside. Before he could move, the door swung open, and Dean came out. He missed Cas to his right, listening to music and turning immediately after closing the door behind him. Walking toward the fence, he sang while twirling a key in his hand, the ring spinning fast on his finger. The off-key pitch and mumbling of lyrics, humming to himself when he couldn’t remember the words, drew a smile to Cas’s face. He almost laughed when Dean dropped the key trying to shove it in the lock but still not missing a beat with the song, his hips also doing a little sway back and forth. The gate pushed open and Dean secured it with some rope at the end. Nodding to himself, he turned back around, the key once again spinning. 

Dean stopped dead when he saw Cas. He ripped the earphones out and cleared his throat, shoving his phone back in his pocket. 

Cas grinned. 

“Can I have my car back now?” 

Pink crawled up to Dean’s cheeks as he pursed his lips, walking over and opening the door. The smile didn’t die on Cas’s face as he watched Dean cross the lobby. The sudden shyness, the candid scene Cas caught him in would be something he kept in his memories for a while. 

Cas followed Dean into the building, tossing his empty cup in the trash. Music still blared from the headphones inside Dean’s pockets, some synth-power ballad with heavy electronic drums, competing with the classic rock station singing softly over them through the ceiling speakers. Classic cars lined up alongside the wall and filled up the empty space in the lounge, untouchable. Cas didn’t know what any of them were and made a note one day. Another conversation.

Reaching the counter, Dean pulled his phone out and lowered the volume, clearing his throat. 

“So -- belt and tensioner,” he said, pulling up a screen on the computer.

“Did it get any higher?”

“Did what?” Dean asked, taking his eyes off the screen, looking confused. 

“Price. How much am I paying?”

“Oh,” Dean checked the computer again, “Eight hundred.”

At first, Cas thought Dean said eight thousand and he opened his mouth, ready to argue. The hundred clicked half a second after, and Cas frowned, confusion blooming in his head.

“That’s a lot less of an estimate you gave me before.”

Dean only cocked his head, shrugging his shoulders a little too high.

“Well, I guess I was wrong the first time around.”

“Dean --” 

“Turned out we had an extra belt for your model in the back,” Dean cut Cas off, clicking around on some more tabs before a printer spat out a receipt, “We didn’t have to charge you as much.”

Cas narrowed his eyes in suspicion as the receipt slid across the counter, but he took the pen and signed anyway. Glancing over the charges, he saw the belt and tensioner and labor, all taxed, all at $795.67. It wasn’t right. Made no sense at all. Cas did his research when he got back the night after he learned what was wrong, and this job should cost seven hundred more. 

At the bottom of the total, a line waited for him to put in a tip amount. He moved the pen moved over to it, but the paper vanished before the tip could touch. Dean grabbed the thing right out from under him. 

“Dean,” Cas started again, sighing as he extended his hand, “Give it back.”

Dean kept his face stone neutral as he instead just clapped Cas’s palm with his own in a horizontal high-five, staring him straight in the eye. The sensation ran up Cas’s arm and his hand tingled with the contact. 

“Fine. I’m keeping the pen then,” Cas announced before shoving it in his pocket, a lame act of deviance. 

Dean smirked and dumped the paperwork on top of a filing cabinet, moving to a board behind him to pick up the keys. He tossed them at Cas but stayed by the wall, the smile still turned at the corners of his mouth, eyes bright.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

**TWO**

December 20th and the damn thing broke again. 

Cas ran to the post office to send off some last-minute Christmas cards when he heard the bang from the undercarriage. The noise, loud and abrupt, caused him to jerk the wheel a little, hitting a shallow but wide pothole. Another bang, accompanied by a scraping noise. 

Slowing the car down to 25 mph, Cas felt his car trying to pull to the left, and it fought him hard when he tried to coarse correct it. The steering wheel shook, and he took an upcoming sharp turn slow and easy. Cas turned on his hazards and attempted to stick as close to the curb as possible. One car honked at Cas when his car jerked to the left as a Honda drove by, almost hitting it. Cas only threw up his middle finger as a response, angry and annoyed. 

Cas made it home, pulling into his driveway sideways. By the time he got to the bottom of his street, facing an incline, he started to smell burning rubber. He wouldn’t be able to drive it to Singer’s, but at least the tow wouldn’t have to cross state lines.

The burning rubber smell increased when Cas pulled the car in park, and he covered his nose with the collar of his coat. He disentangled himself from the seatbelt and practically fell out of the driver’s side, taking several steps back. 

His back left wheel looked odd. It wasn’t smoking, nothing was, but it looked off-kilter -- literally. 

“What?,” Cas groaned as he walked to the back of the car. 

The sight before him sank his heart. 

The right tire had the small amount of smoke floating up from under the car, but the problem was worse than just a flat tire: Both tires were bent inward towards each other, the left more than the right. Cas marveled at the fact he made it home okay and said a silent prayer he hadn’t been on the highway. 

This bill he was _definitely_ sending to Gabriel. Absolute trash.

Cas took out his phone to look at the time, already knowing he couldn’t get help at this hour. Singer’s closed at five, and the display showed 6:37 p.m., no chance to get his car in. Friday evening, everything closed now, even the rental places. 

Sighing, Cas decided to leave a message at the shop anyway, then AAA. He didn’t want to see the junk heap in the driveway all weekend. If the cost wound up too high, then he’d take Dean’s offer up on finding a different car. It wasn’t worth it anymore at this point, and it wasn’t like the car had any value. Peace of mind trumped having a Mercedes just to have a Mercedes.

Cas spaced out while dialing the number, thinking that if he _did_ want a new car, perhaps he could ask Dean to go with him and help out. The man had invaluable knowledge, and Cas didn’t want to get scammed into buying another hunk of trash. Maybe it’d be too forward to ask, or maybe Dean would want to help -- Cas wouldn’t know until he voiced the proposition. They’ve only run into each other a few times since Thanksgiving; grocery store; Dunkin’; Citgo -- but every time they both greeted each other warmly, however no time for longer conversations, something Cas missed. However, the brief encounters still helped to spread the sparks into small flames deep inside. He liked the guy, Cas admitted to himself. Nothing wrong with that. 

Holding the phone to his ear, Cas turned his back on his car, the sight of the wheels infuriating him. The line on the other end rang twice before a pause. 

Cas opened his mouth to begin his sob story to the answering machine but instead was greeted by a “Hello?”.

“Hello?” Cas parroted, confused.

“Cas?” Dean asked, his voice muffled, “What’s up?”

“Uh -- nothing. I mean, something but, why are you still there? Aren’t you closed for --”

“Just like to put in some extra time here and there. What’s going on?” 

Cas stared at the car but completely forgot the words he planned, Dean’s voice drowning out any other thoughts. 

“Uh,” Cas cleared his throat, “The car broke again.”

A pause, then a small huff of laughter.

“Again?”

“I was driving back from the post office and heard something snap --”

“Oh boy --”

“And now the wheels are angled inward and the car leans to the left.”

Another pause, and in the silence, Cas tapped one of the tires with his foot. 

“Alright, give me a couple minutes, I’ll bring over the tow truck.”

Cas shook his head even though Dean couldn’t see him, “It’s late, Dean, I’ll have AAA bring it over tomorrow --”

“I won’t be around tomorrow, and Bobby’s in a different state altogether. I want that thing behind bars where it belongs,” Dean joked, “I’ll load it up on a flatbed and get it parked tonight. What’s your address?” 

Heat rose up Cas’s neck and into his face, “121 Maple Hill Road,” he answered, starting to look around his darkened yard to see if any sticks needed picking up or if there were snow spots to shovel --

“Cool, see you in a few.” Dean hung up before Cas could protest. 

Dumbfounded, Cas stood in his driveway for a minute before launching into action, taking his things out of the car and giving the thing another kick for good measure. 

Cas and Dean stood in silence as the flatbed pulled the ruined car up. The thing lurched and swayed, not wanting to stay in a straight line but Dean figured if the wheel was fastened to point one way, the car would straighten itself out. 

Never had Cas been more grateful for the dark of night and a dim outdoor light than that night. Dean undid his belt without a word and slid it through the loops, the noise of leather shifting against denim causing Cas. Heat crept up into his face again, contrasting with the cold air around him. Inappropriate. It was very inappropriate. A little crush was acceptable, and would most likely fade once his car started to act like one, but the belt sound went beyond that level. Images associated with the sound aligned with actions Cas wanted to -- 

Watching Dean secure the wheel to the door handle inside, Cas realized he’d never touch those spots the same again. Not with that memory impressed into the leather.

“-- tomorrow?” 

Cas jumped, only a little but enough for Dean to notice, surely, and turned. 

“I’m sorry --- can you repeat that?” he asked, the heat extending down from his cheeks to his toes. Cas wondered if steam started to come off him.

“Are you available tomorrow? I can take a look at the thing tonight and --”

“It’s two hours after you already closed. Don’t you go home?” Cas asked, his tone a little more accusing than intended.

Dean shrugged and went over to lock the wheels in place as the chain stopped. He kept his back to Cas as he lifted himself onto the bed and reached in through the window, undoing his belt from the wheel. 

Turning, he lifted his jacket and shirt, inhaling to lift his chest up a little while he slid his belt back through the loops. He faced Cas the entire time, and Cas couldn’t help his eyes moving downward, looking at the small slip of skin exposed to the winter air. He stayed absolutely still. 

The small motion set whatever kindling flame into motion, billowing into a bonfire inside Cas. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” 

The words brought Cas back down to earth for the second time that night, and he inhaled fast and deep as he looked up. Dean had a slight smirk, and his hands slipped back into his pockets. Cas met his gaze and didn’t look away, too nervous that whatever just happened, whatever fire that sprang up, would disappear. 

“See you tomorrow then.” 

The rest of the night proved restless for Cas. 

He took an Ativan to get to bed earlier, not knowing if he wanted a restful sleep or time travel so the morning came faster. He knew the real answer deep down, but pretended there was a choice. 

In bed by nine, Cas couldn’t close his eyes for another hour and a half, rolling to one side and playing on his phone, then rolling to another and watched the trees play shadow games against the streetlight. 

He woke up at midnight, 2:45, and finally 4:26 in the morning. Each time he kicked the sheets down, feeling too hot. Two minutes later, he’d pull them back up to his chest but not to his head. Too warm led to too cold; too cold led to too hot and Cas’s body continued to play tennis with his body temperature.

At quarter to five, after kicking around for twenty minutes, Cas took the spare pillow out from under the one he slept on, and brought it to his chest. He turned over back onto the side and kept his arms wrapped around it. The solid presence of something against him helped drift off, the buzzing in his body mellowing out. 

Cas arrived at the shop at eight o’clock, having his Uber take him to the car rental place first thing in the morning. Round two with the car lottery yielded better results with Cas offered a Ford Fusion. It was fantastic but far better than the Mitsubishi Clown Car. 

When Cas pulled in, he saw one of the three garage bay doors open and his car up on the lift. The gate remained closed, however, so he took a deep breath, got out of the car, and walked to the front door. The previous night still felt like a fever dream. It probably was. He remembered the vivid visions in between sleep cycles where that small sliver of skin displayed up on the flatbed revealed more of itself through slow and delicate movements. 

Cas woke that morning with a heavy, guilty conscience. 

The little bell dinged as Cas stepped over the threshold, and was greeted with complete silence. The music over the speakers decided not to play on a Saturday morning, knowing it was its day off. Maggie’s seat remained vacant in the billing office, and no other mechanics hustled and bustled around. Only Cas, buzzing fluorescents, and the line of cars he still didn’t know anything about. 

He proceeded forward, his footsteps echoing in the lobby. He saw his car lifted outside, but there were no sounds of whirring mechanics or banging to indicate anyone else present. 

When Cas shuffled up to the front counter, he leaned over to see if there was a bell he could push. Next to the keyboard, tucked against the modem for the computer, sat a little button looking like a doorbell. Pushing it, he heard a short and harsh buzz from the garage. No response.

Cas frowned, a minute going by without anyone coming. The thought occurred to him that maybe alongside the dirtier dreams, he dreamt up the entire encounter altogether, and Dean only came to pick up the car without any fanfare and left -- 

“Hey, sorry!” Dean’s voice came from behind Cas accompanied by the little jingle of the bell. Cas turned, confused.

“No, I’m sorry, I think I got here early --”

Dean waved his hand and coughed warmer air back into his chest. The wind bit at his face outside, leaving him with red cheeks and a pink nose. Dean hurried over to the billing office to toss some envelopes onto Maggie’s desk before shedding his gloves and coat, tossing them in there as well. 

Dean stepped to the back of the desk and hit a few keys, clearing his throat again. Cas frowned.

“Did you walk here from somewhere?”

Shaking his head, Dean punched a few more keys before the printer whirred to life. 

“No -- I mean, yeah, I had to run to the bank across the street to make a deposit I forgot to do yesterday.”

“It’s a two-second walk though.”

“So?”

“You look like you just ran a marathon.”

Dean stayed quiet as he worked and Cas decided to drop it. Don’t push it, champ.

They both waited in silence as Dean kept typing on the computer. Another paper printed, then another, then one more. 

“This doesn’t seem good,” Cas joked, a nervous smile growing the longer he stood there in the silence. Dean glanced at him before printing off two more pages. He snatched them off the machine and turned to face Cas, eyes on the paper. 

“Alright, so right now we’re looking at your rear subframe, which cracked due to rust. So we have to do that and then realign your wheels again even though I know we did that in October,” Dean explained, handing the first sheet over to Cas to look over. 

“How much is that?” 

Dean looked up now, a grimace on his face. 

“Well, there’s that, and then there’s this,” he handed another sheet over, “I took a look at some other things I thought could go wrong in the coming months considering the age of the car -- if you want to preempt anything, we need to replace your left front-lower control arm _and_ replace the right front axle shaft. That’ll get you your wheel alignment, but I also suggest just getting four new tires altogether --”

Cas held up his hand, shaking his head in confusion. He had no idea what any of this meant. 

“I’m lost. I trust you, Dean -- just tell me how much it’ll cost.”

Dean winced and took a deep breath, “With everything, you’re looking at thirty-seven hundred.”

The number, bigger than the job in November, didn’t shock Cas as bad. He anticipated it as soon as he saw his wheels askew. Maybe he should get a new car at this point.

“But,” Dean continued, “I have used parts in the back that can reduce the price, and I can get it done faster too.”

“What do you mean faster?” Cas asked, frowning.

Dean looked down at the papers and spaced them out on the counter, “If I start on _this_ tonight,” he pointed to a diagram with something circled in red, “I can get some of the guys in by Monday to help me with all the heavy lifting -- and then it’s probably done by Wednesday if all goes well. You won’t have to drive that tin-can out there.” He ended with a laugh. 

A pause, a brief moment of silence, and Cas stilled the papers Dean fidgeted with. 

“It’s Christmas Eve on Wednesday,” Cas said, softer than he meant to, but in a subtle shock. 

Dean looked up, eyebrows high in an over the top manner that Cas pegged immediately.

“Oh, it is?” Dean asked, his voice a little higher than usual as leaned over to look at the desktop calendar, “Well, would you look at that! Alright then, how’s the following week?”

“Dean --”

“I can do Tuesday or Wednesday -- Bobby wants to take us on a hunting trip together for _bonding_ or whatever later in the week, I don’t know --”

“Dean, you forgot this week is Christmas?”

Dean threw a little shrug and gathered up the papers including the ones from under Cas’s hand, seeming to take careful measure not to touch him in the process 

“I never have anything planned, so it slips my mind.”

“Absolutely nothing?” Cas asked, feeling his heart already tumble. He personally didn’t go all out for the holidays either but you’d have to purposefully not pay attention to all the decorations around town or in the stores to forget it was _Christmas_. 

“Brother’s in California, can’t afford to go out there and he can’t afford to come here. Been like that for a few years now. Bobby heads to Maine with his family, and everyone else I know packs it up and heads out of town for the week. It’s the usual,” Dean explained. He turned his back to Cas to file the papers, and while he couldn’t see his face, Cas heard a flat tone of disappointment lacing Dean’s words.

He didn’t mention his parents. Cas knew better than to ask. 

“You can’t be alone for Christmas Eve,” Cas said with conviction. 

“I’ve been for the last several years, got along just fine,” Dean responded, finally turning back around. Cas instantly saw the pain behind that stoic wall of _nothing phases me_ as Dean sat too straight; too tense. Several years this man went without a Christmas celebration and without company.

Cas thought about his own plans. He too always spent Christmas Eve and Day alone with no family nearby, but he still went out and enjoyed the company of strangers. The Christmas spirit, contagious as it was, caught on early in the night and Cas always went home with a smile on his face. 

The question tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it: “Would you like to join me then?” 

Dean stared at Cas, unblinking, and Cas felt that annoying heat return to his face. His mouth got bold while the rest of him shrank under the embarrassment of asking someone who he’d only met a handful of times out to a Christmas Eve dinner, crush or not. 

“I wouldn’t want to crash your family party,” Dean responded, quiet, still staring at Cas who had to look away. 

“I don’t have a family party. My family’s scattered too. I go to Harrington’s.”

Dean narrowed his eyes but his stiff resolve cracked with a small smile, “You’re on my ass about spending the holidays alone, and yet you spend your holidays alone too?”

“I’m _not_ alone, I’m with other people there.”

“Not with family though.”

“No, not with family. But there are other people there, it’s like a big Christmas party -- there’s even a live band. You don’t need to have family around to still have a good time.”

Cas paused, realizing he came close to rambling. He expected Dean to give him a sad, sympathetic look before shaking his head, thanking Cas for the offer _Sounds like fun,_ _but_ _I’m all set._ Cas would promptly thank Dean, go home, and try to scrub the entire interaction from his mind. 

Cas wasn’t a naturally shy person; he wasn’t ever afraid to put his foot forward and do what had to be done; he wasn’t the type to shy away from a fight or a debate. Some in his family considered him a black sheep with how vocal he would be on some issues, the rest of them preferring to ‘let it be’. 

But now, standing in the middle of a quiet lobby with a man who wouldn’t get out of his mind for months, Cas felt like hiding away under his bed until the embarrassing moment passed. The slight glimpse of skin _wasn’t_ a tease, the heated look _wasn’t_ that arousing, and Cas read into the situation last night _completely wrong --_

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go with you,” Dean answered, soft and quiet but loud enough to cut through the white noise in Cas’s head.

He paused, unsure if he heard correctly. But, the smile on Dean’s face reached his eyes this time, and his shoulders relaxed.

“Pick you up at six?” Cas offered. 

“I’ll come pick _you_ up,” Dean said, pointing to the Ford outside, “I don’t trust your luck with cars.”

**THREE**

Snow graced the earth with its presence on Christmas Eve. 

Cas watched from his living room window, waiting for Dean. The flakes didn’t stick to the road, the previous day’s sun warming the asphalt. They did stick to the trees and the telephone pole outside and dusted the grass, creating a non-threatening snow scene. They’d get two inches by morning, the meteorologists promised. The first white Christmas in several years. The sun tomorrow would make the snow sparkle like a snowglobe, but now, sitting in the dark and watching the fat flakes float down to the ground under the street light, Cas just enjoyed their quiet company. 

Watching the snow fall helped calm his nerves. 

A few minutes past six, Cas heard Dean’s car rumble up the street. He drove slow, probably trying to see the numbers on the side of the houses, the engine felt faintly through Cas’s window and wall. Dean pulled it to the side of the road, on the incline, and leaned over, waving. The car far out-matched anything Cas ever drove, sleek black curves highlighted by water droplets of melted snow against the streetlight. She literally purred. 

Cas took a deep breath in, waved back, then pushed himself off the sofa with his exhale. The nerves and shyness kept throwing him off, feeling anxious but giddy at the same time, the conflicting emotions duking it out in the pit of his stomach. 

Grabbing his coat, Cas left his house before second thoughts held him back. 

The drive over to Harrington’s consisted of light chatter, Cas asking early on about the car so he could enjoy the excitement in Dean’s voice as he waxed poetic on the details.

“Got her from my dad, not too bad condition wise but I didn’t take care of it much in the beginning -- she’s my pride and joy right now,” he hummed, patting the car on the dashboard, “Once you get the basics fixed up, the rest is easy upkeep.”

“Tell that to my monster of a car,” Cas quipped, watching the holiday lights from town whizz by. 

“We’ll get it to where it needs to be,” Dean promised, stealing a glance at Cas who only saw it out of the corner of his eye. 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Dean right then, having to settle for his voice. The man cleaned up well, almost _too_ well for someone who Cas never saw outside work pants, boots, and a grease-stained shirt covered by a Carhart. 

Cas liked that dirtier work look, it’s what caught his eye in the first place the first time he went to the shop. The mechanic look apparently did things for him. Everything else, Dean’s voice, smile, and their conversations -- that only increased the warmth that Cas felt. It’d been a slippery slope downward for a few months, but Cas wouldn’t have put money on him being in Dean’s car on Christmas Eve, spending the night with him. 

Those were only daydreams that got him through the doldrums of office life. 

They pulled into Harrington’s parking lot, almost full to the brim. Couples dressed in their Christmas best locked arms and followed each other up the steps through the front door. When Dean turned the engine off, they could hear the faint beat of the live band’s set. 

Cas turned and saw Dean tracking the couples with his eyes, a small frown on his face, lines pulling at his mouth and eyes that looked sad in the night shadow. 

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, voice hushed like someone passing could hear them. 

Dean swallowed hard enough for Cas to hear and he looked away from the window down to his hands resting in his lap, fingers wrapped around the keychain. 

“Is this a date?” he whispered, voice almost disappearing into the ambient noise around them. 

An invisible hand reached out and enclosed around Cas’s throat as he looked away and back out his own window. A group of friends now idled by, laughing at something on one of the girls’ phone. The band changed to a softer song, the beat of the drums fading a bit. Refocusing his gaze, Cas caught his own face in the window, reflected by the spotlight outside. He looked too scared, too shy for his own liking. 

_Stop it. You’re a grown man_. 

Turning back to Dean, Cas cleared his throat.

“I hoped it would be,” he answered, voice still soft but stronger, “If you don’t want to stay, I understand. I can take an Uber home.”

Silence descended on them after his statement, and Cas watched with a small rock of anxiety rolling around in his stomach, waiting for Dean to kick him out of the car. Maybe he really had misread the signals -- 

Dean shook his head, “No, no -- I want to stay. I’ve just been so nervous and it hit me watching everyone. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

The anxiety inside Cas exploded into butterflies in an instant, causing the tips of his fingers and toes to buzz.

“Really?” 

Dean looked back up to Cas, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, still nervous but not as apprehensive, “Yeah, really.”

The sudden urge to lean in and kiss Dean swelled up from deep within Cas, but he held it back before his body acted. The desire had been building, Cas realized, for months. The permission now to say _yes, I like you_ unleashed a tier of pure want that he hadn’t been able to let himself feel, the guilt pressing it back into the shadows where it belonged. 

“Let’s go inside before they give away the table,” Cas said, trying to repress his giddiness, trying not to make a _complete_ embarrassment out of himself. 

They managed to score a table near the band, but still far enough to hear each other talk without shouting too much. 

A flight of beer ordered and onion straws on the way, they sat back and listened to the band do its jazzy rendition of ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’, and applauded with the rest of the crowd. By the final note, the waitress brought them their table snacks, and asked for their full order. Wings -- Tuscan, Hot, and Barbeque please, and thank you. 

“You get three baskets all for yourself when you do this alone?” Dean teased, taking a glass off the wooden rack.

Cas copied him and they toasted without a word. They both knew what they wanted to toast to, but it was private, only to them. Too many people around to share the moment. 

After a sip, Cas shook his head, “No, I usually just get the Tuscan ones, but you’re here so I used you as an excuse.”

Dean laughed and finished his glass before narrowing his eyes at the remaining two, deciding which one he wanted next. He chose, then Cas took the remaining one; they toasted again, and drank. 

The band struck up another Dean Martin-esque jingle and people around them began to sing. Dean, bolstered by the energy and alcohol, joined in. It wasn’t the off-tune mumbling from before, but an honest effort that people around him encouraged.

More drinks and then the food arrived. Cas absorbed the life in the room and the person from the table across from him who kept flashing him smirks and winks. As the night went on, and they made idle chatter between songs and drinks, seeing the light and joy in Dean’s eyes -- Cas felt himself get pushed off the cliff and fall headfirst in love. 

**FOUR**

They left Harrington’s around 11:30, not completely drunk but too tipsy to safely drive. To sober up, they took a walk down Main Street.

The town left the holiday lights on throughout the main square, strings hanging from telephone pole to telephone pole, extending outward until they converged into one on top of the band gazebo on the town green. A tall evergreen next to the building displayed its lights in magnificent fashion, coloring the snow around it.

Dean slipped his gloved hand into Cas’s as they crossed the street, heading to the gazebo. He gripped Cas tight enough for a lazy tendril of warmth to travel Cas’s arm. He wished the gloves were off; he wanted to feel the real warmth of Dean’s skin. They shook hands before, the familiar touch of customer service, but the tide shifted and now the brush of skin carried a heavier weight. 

No cars drove by them, no carolers visited the local business, and not another soul could be seen around them. As they took a shortcut through the grass, the only sound around them was the snow crunching under their shoes, displaying a near perfect shoe print. As they walked closer to the tree, Cas saw more of the colors on display, wound around some strands of white light, all spiraling upwards to a multi-pointed star, shining brilliant and silver against the snowy night sky.

Cas felt as if they were walking through a Christmas postcard. 

He and Dean remained quiet during the walk, hands still laced together and swaying with the rhythm of their walking. Cas glanced down at them, and gave Dean’s hand a small squeeze, just to make sure it was all real. Dean smiled and squeezed back with the needed assurance.

The gazebo’s benches were still bare with no wind to blow the snow under the roof. They moseyed over to the ones on the other side of the entrance and Dean let go of Cas’s hand to sit down first, patting the bench next to him. 

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, taking in the scenery around them. Cas, for the first time in his life, decided he truly loved Christmas. 

“I didn’t go to the bank last Saturday,” Dean said all of a sudden, keeping his voice low as not to break the ambiance.

“What?” 

“Last Saturday when I came back and you said I looked like I ran a marathon?” 

Cas nodded, the image of reddened cheeks and chapped lips coming to the front of his mind.

“That’s because I walked around the block probably six times before you got there,” Dean explained, looking down at his hands before reaching back over to hold Cas’s, “I couldn’t sleep the night before -- I thought I went too far with that belt thing.”

The alcohol slowed Cas’s processing capabilities, and he frowned until he realized exactly what Dean said. He was getting more drunk sitting there than he did at the restaurant. Laughing, Cas slid his other hand on top of Dean’s, still annoyed at their gloved barriers.

“And on my end, the belt thing did go too far to the point I couldn’t sleep either. But, I think that was for different reasons.”

Dean looked back up, eyes a little wider with understanding. Cas smirked, turning his head away as the pesky heat returning to his cheeks. The normalcy of everything in the current moment threw him off. After months tossing around the idea that _maybe_ his mechanic was cute and _maybe_ he’d be into guys as well and _maybe --_

Now they sat in the town square, warmed from their Christmas Eve celebrations, and drunk off of alcohol and each other’s presence, Cas wished he could go back in time and tell his past-self to not have so many guilt-ridden nights where he thought he’d cross the line thinking about Dean _like that_.

“I thought you kept breaking your car on purpose,” Dean confessed in a whisper so low, only Cas’s ears and the snowflakes nearby could hear. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Cas smiled, “It really is that bad.”

“Then I’m happy your brother sold you a shit car, sorry to say it,” Dean smirked. Cas kept the grin on his face as he looked back down at their hands, starting to play with a plastic dangle-thingy on Dean’s gloves meant to keep them together when not worn. Cas wanted to give it a tug -- see how far he could get with taking the thing off -- 

“Hey, look,” Dean tapped Cas’s leg with his other hand. Cas followed Dean’s gaze to right above them. A mistletoe hung over each of the three sections of benches, spying on them the entire time. 

“Mistletoe,” Cas remarked, almost out of breath looking at it. The damn thing -- 

Before he could second guess himself, or shrink back on that pesky shyness that dogged him for months, Cas wiggled his hands free. Taking a breath, he let one gloved hand rest on the side of Dean’s face, directing him gently back over to Cas’s space. 

They met in the middle, their lips just brushing each other’s at first, both of them held back by the last remnants of nerves. A shiver ran down Cas’s back at the sensation, the cold and dry air making everything most sensitive. He inhaled, his breath shaky, before pushing harder, deepening the contact into a burst of warmth and welcomeness. Dean made a small noise, the sound shooting warmth into Cas from his head to his toes. 

Midnight mass bells rang somewhere off in the distance, cutting through the snowfall. The noise blended with the faint ringing already happening in Cas’s ears, his own bells of celebration. They stayed together for another minute before needing to pull away, both short of breath in the cold air. They didn’t go far, Dean resting his forehead against Cas’s, the hot skin welcome instead of the flash of cold air. Their eyes stayed closed as they took their pause.

“Merry Christmas,” Cas whispered after a moment in the space between them before guiding Dean into a deeper, searing kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 1 NOTES:  
> Hello everyone!  
> This started as a prompt given to me by [quiettewandering](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettewandering/pseuds/quiettewandering)
> 
> The prompts were:  
> “Oh, hey, mistletoe!”  
> “You can’t be alone on Christmas Eve”  
> (I can't find the original tumblr post lol)
> 
> This was also beta'd by [cuddlemonsterdean on tumblr](https://cuddlemonsterdean.tumblr.com/) and I couldn't be more grateful! 
> 
> I meant it to be a little ficlet or something and it grew into this!.  
> I've been writing a lot of angst, smut, or angsty smut lately, so this was a nice change of pace. I was a little out of my element, but I loved it a lot. 
> 
> Also, my mom helped me out with this without question -- so thank you, mom!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 
> 
> UPDATE 10/17/2020: Thank you Masterofevilmonkeyness on Tumblr for the BEAUTIFUL artwork I'm so grateful!
> 
> Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash  
> Jen | wigglebox


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Our cheeks are nice and rosy and comfy and cozy are we  
> We're snuggled up together like two birds of a feather would be [..]'

**ONE**

The meteorologists had lied. 

Not only that, but they had lied a _lot,_ to the tune of nine extra inches of snow. 

By the time Dean and Cas left the park, closer together so their shoulders brushed, the snow began to really pile up. They didn’t pay attention to the deeper imprints left in the soft surface from their shoes. They were concentrating on trying not to march right back to the benches and mistletoe.

Time flew away from them as the clock ticked closer to half-past. Parting didn’t seem appealing to them, despite the ever-falling temperatures. Dean felt that heat radiate in him, wondering if he could melt the snow around them. They existed in a bubble of their own making and neither one of them wanted to pop it. 

But, as Dean moved down to the spot under Cas’s ear, Cas’s phone slipped out of his pocket. It hit the wood under their feet with a dull _thunk_ , and the screen lit up, dowsing their faces in blue light and displaying the reality of time. 

It was then Dean realized how cold he had actually become while sitting there. The dull warm glow from the alcohol had started to wither away, and kissing could only keep him warm for so long.

“I don’t want to leave,” the words slipped out before he could stop them. 

Cas stayed silent as his thumb moved back and forth over the back of Dean’s hand, the fabric of the glove moving with it. The pressure felt nice. 

“I don’t either, but you’re starting to shiver, and it’s late,” Cas said, a tinge of regret riding his voice. 

Dean could feel a frown forming on his face like a petulant toddler not getting his way. He was being stupid, he knew it, they couldn’t freeze to death on the first date -- but it was the most comfort he had experienced in a long time, even with the snow. 

They sat in silence for another minute before Cas stood, tagging gently on Dean’s hand for him to follow. With a sigh, Dean followed, taking one last look at the Hallmark scene around them before they walked back to the car. 

The car had an inch of snow on her, and Dean sighed again as he withdrew his hand from Cas’s, tucking it up his sleeve and wiping the windshield in one movement. The snow wasn’t the light and dusty kind that could be swept away with ease. Little clumps of ice and snow clung to Dean’s coat as he went for another swipe. Cas, for his part, crossed over to his side and repeated the action. 

“Surprised you don’t have a snow scraper,” he said, lifting the windshield wiper gently, “We live in New England.”

Dean shrugged as he decided to leave the roof how it was. No one else was on the road at this hour. 

“I got no good answer for that other than I always take it inside in case the car gets iced over, and keep forgetting to bring it back.”

“What did you name her again?” 

Dean felt a swinge of heat rise to his face and ears as he focused on brushing off his window. He forgot they had that conversation at the restaurant. Alcohol was great. 

“I’m not repeating it.” 

“I honestly can’t remember. You wiped my memory back there.”

Sighing, Dean stopped and locked eyes with Cas who looked up from his own side of the car with an expectant expression. 

“Baby,” he said, a word he often used but now at that moment, Dean realized, sounded completely different in context, “I named her Baby, just kinda happened over time, you know --” 

_Nice save_. 

Cas smiled at that, “Oh, right,” before brushing off his own sleeve. That smile would never get old, Dean decided. 

They both slid into the front seat and Dean realized his toes felt like someone stuffed his shoes with ice.

“Wasn’t this supposed to stop, like, two hours ago?” he asked, turning his key to turn the engine over. The car rumbled to life. 

Cas already had his phone in his hand and swiped through his apps before bringing up a radar screen, a frown lining his face. He remained silent as Dean turned the wheel, and tried to accelerate. 

The tires spun and squealed a little against the packed snow that had already fallen when they parked. 

“They changed the forecast,” Cas sighed, “They upped the total.”

Dean tried again; a little move movement as he wiggled the steering wheel back and forth. 

“How much?” he asked, glancing over to the screen. A swatch of moving royal blue covered the state with a precipitation bar at the bottom of the app. 

“This station’s saying we’ll get over a foot by morning.”

“From two inches to twelve?” Dean wanted to shout, “Someone should get fired.” 

Cas hummed in agreement as he swiped to another screen. 

Dean backed the car up again, annoyance beginning to rise, completely shattering the mood from only five minutes ago. His car wasn’t fit for this weather and he usually relied on Bobby’s truck when winter came knocking hard. Bobby, however, had decided to fuck off to Maine. They also weren’t supposed to get this much damn snow -- 

The car slid, and Dean winced as he jerked the steering wheel back and forth, harder this time. If there was a car in front or behind them, he’d hit it. 

A moment later, Dean gained traction and the car hurled itself up into the few inches of snow on the street. The sudden movement caused them to rock in their seats some, and Cas’s hand flung out to steady himself on Dean’s leg. A dull buzz began where the pressure of Cas’s fingertips held on, and Dean held his breath while he forced himself to concentrate.

The car slid, the back tires not wanting to point them in the right direction, but Dean countersteered. The noise of skidding snow under the tires caused Dean to cringe and Baby finally course-corrected. 

He looked over at Cas who placed his phone back in his lap while taking his hand off Dean, much to Dean’s disappointment. 

As Dean eased on the gas to move forward, he finally exhaled. He needed to concentrate and not think about where he’d want that hand to really go. 

**TWO**

A drive that should have taken thirty minutes doubled to sixty. Dean couldn’t take the car over twenty miles an hour through the backroads, trying to avoid the highway. 

“Where are the plows?” he groaned, taking a turn at an excruciatingly slow speed. 

“It’s Christmas,” Cas answered, “And after one in the morning. Low priority -- we’re probably the only ones on the road.” 

Dean bit the inside of his cheek as he held back a profanity-laced insult to the non-existent plows. The snow fell harder now and he could barely see. He felt Cas tense next to him and felt bad such a good night went so wrong, even if neither of them had a say in the matter. 

Just after 1:30, they arrived at the bottom of a hill. Four homes up sat Cas’s house, perched where the hill leveled out slightly before increasing in pitch again. They decided to take the hill from the bottom instead of the top, fearing they wouldn’t be able to brake and crash. 

Dean gripped the steering wheel as he turned onto the adjacent street. He hadn’t looked at Cas in several minutes, putting his blinders on to focus, trying to figure out how he could get enough momentum to drive up the hill without sliding back. 

What started as a fun night has now turned a little desperate.

The one blessing of the past hour came when Dean approached the hill, he saw a spot across the T-intersection where a tree, even without its leaves, bore the brunt of most of the fallen snow. The road still maybe had an inch or two in that spot, but it was better than the six they were currently maneuvering in. 

Dean glanced at Cas, “You got your seatbelt on?” 

Cas only nodded in response and gripped the door handle. 

The car drifted to the opposite side of the road as Dean eased off the gas. The road was wide enough for him to hopefully get both of his rear wheels onto the shallower patch of snow while pointing his car in the right direction. 

As soon as he felt a small dip, Dean pressed on the gas hard for the first time that night. He didn’t slam the pedal to the floor, but enough for the tires to spin for a half-second, brushing away the snow underneath them and launching them forward. 

Dean kept on the gas, barely half an inch down on the pedal, and Baby ascended up the hill. The engine barely chugged along, almost like she also knew the importance of not pushing the limits. 

They got to a spot between Cas’s house and his neighbor’s, bright with rainbow Christmas lights outlining their whole house. Dean eased on the gas a little more, mentally crossing his fingers that he could get it up into Cas’s driveway. 

“Do you want me to go out and push it?” Cas asked, speaking for the first time in nearly fifteen minutes. 

Dean shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek again as he began to turn the wheel so the car didn’t need a sharp turn into the driveway. 

The tires spun, and for a wild second, Dean feared he’d have to park his car half on the road and half in the driveway. But, the car pulled through and caught something to push itself off of, gliding into the driveway. 

They sat idling as Dean threw the car in park, and inhaled deep, putting his forehead against his hands on the steering wheel. 

“I hate winter,” he grumbled, and soon felt Cas put a hand on the back of his shoulder. It helped the tension melt a little. 

“You got us home safe, so at least be proud of that.”

Dean nodded against his knuckles before sighing and lifting his head back up, Cas removing his hand. 

“Time for round two. I can… call you? When I get home?” Dean asked, annoyed at the shy tone that came out of his mouth.

Cas’s face twisted into confusion and frowned, “You’re not going back out there. You’ll get stuck.”

At once, Dean knew the conversation’s destination, and what Cas planned on asking -- 

“I’ll be fine,” Dean said, forcing a smile on his face, “It’s not too bad, and I don’t live on a hill.”

“Where _do_ you live?” Cas asked, narrowing his eyes a little. 

Dean pursed his lips and looked away, back out his own window. The snow had started to fall at its hardest now like someone took the cap off a salt shaker. He really wouldn’t be able to make it home, but the alternative seemed just as nerve-wracking. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Not now. 

“Shelton,” he mumbled to his reflection in the glass.

“I’m sorry?” 

“I live in Shelton,” Dean increased his voice, turning back around. Cas’s eyes were wide with disbelief, and Dean had to look away. 

“Alright. You’re definitely not driving all the way back there in conditions like this. Let’s go inside,” Cas all but ordered before unlocking his door and stepping outside without another word. 

Dean watched as Cas hoisted his coat up to block some of the snow from blowing into his face. He stopped right in front of the headlights and gestured at Dean to follow, before heading over to the stairs leading up to the sunporch. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean killed the engine and opened his door. 

**THREE**

There were dates, and then there were ‘dates’. 

‘Dates’ were no problem for Dean. They usually consisted of meeting a hookup on Tinder, taking them to a bar, and then having fun for the night. Most of the time they wound up at his own place, sometimes theirs, depending on the distance. The location didn’t matter in the end, so long as clothes were discarded as an afterthought and the sheets got tangled. 

The ‘dates’ with men were rarer, but they happened on occasion. Same process, same goal. 

Those always came easy. 

But then there were real dates. Someone picks you up, or vise-versa, you go to a nice restaurant or a movie, then you kiss each other goodbye, maybe, before parting ways for the night. Dates could be set multiple times before ever seeing the inside of someone’s bedroom (or wherever the couch was if you couldn’t make it to the bedroom). 

Dean’s experience with honest to God dates was minimal at best, tragic at worst. There had only ever been two definitive ones in his history: Robin and Cassie. Both girls were amazing, but also two decades in the past and hardly of any use when drawing on references. 

Even worse, Dean had never been on a date with a man. He’d daydream about a guy here and there as he went through life but never acted on it. His dad would have called him a chicken shit and that’d be correct.

Dates and ‘dates’ didn’t prepare Dean for the nerves that rattled him in the short distance from his car to Cas’s sunporch. 

In the parking lot of Harrington’s, it had hit Dean like a ton of bricks where Cas seemed to be heading; the moment of clarity finally blaring in his head. Their playfulness throughout the months built the bridge to their current situation, and Dean had happily followed. 

But now -- 

Now it got serious, and Dean didn’t know what to do about it. 

**FOUR**

Fantasy and reality clashed as Dean stomped his shoes on the straw mat just inside the porch, keeping his eyes trained on the floor as Cas unlocked the door. 

If it were a ‘date’, they’d be attached at the mouth, working furiously to see who could get the other riled up faster, probably unable to even get the door properly opened. If it were a ‘date’ they’d be cemented together, hips already moving despite the clothing between them, halting their progress. 

If it were a ‘date’, Dean wouldn’t be so hesitant about stepping over the threshold into the house. 

“Are you going to sleep on my porch?” Cas’s voice broke through Dean’s thoughts, and he realized he’d been staring at the welcome mat.

Cas turned the kitchen lights on, one overhead the sink and another one above an island. Dean could feel the warmth from inside trying to pull him in as Cas disappeared into another room, shucking his coat, leaving his shoes by the door. A moment later, that light also turned on. 

Warm, inviting, and terrifying. 

Dean still hadn’t moved by the time Cas circled back, a few more light sources appearing in the hallway and in another room Dean couldn’t see. 

Cas paused where hallway met kitchen, the island between them. He looked just like he did at the restaurant, sans coat and sleeves rolled up, but now Dean appreciated the difference. The energy shifted from the restaurant, town square, and now, still coming down from the terror that was the drive home. 

Just as Cas opened his mouth to say something, Dean cleared his throat and forced himself back into the moment. 

“Not for nothing, but I don’t put out on the first date -- just saying,” he joked, or attempted to, trying to brush the hesitance away. He stepped through, shutting the door behind him. He toed his shoes off by the radiator next to him, leaving them next to Cas’s.

And there they were, alone in a bubble, tucked away from the world. 

Cas for his part didn’t laugh or even smile at the half-assed joke but instead continued to frown. Dean missed the smile.

“I don’t expect any of that,” Cas said, too soft and too understanding for Dean’s comfort, “I hope you didn’t think I was trying to get --”

“No, no,” Dean cut Cas off, looking away to the little set up of tiny ceramic snowmen on the windowsill above the sink while discarding his own coat, “Just a joke. Where should I put this?” 

Cas offered to take it but Dean only shook his head and walked past him with a half-assed smile that he knew looked like a grimace, trying to map out where Cas went only a few minutes prior. He saw the coat hanging on the back of the dining room chair and hung his up opposite. Pressing his hands against the wood, he gripped it tight and sighed. 

“Dean, please look at me.” 

The voice behind him sounded too tired and soft to ignore, and Dean obeyed, then immediately wished he hadn’t. 

For as much as Dean fell for that smile he could coax out of Cas during their meetings the past several months, and the laughter from that night, there was also the painful opposite end of the spectrum. 

Dean never wanted to see this look on Cas’s face ever again. 

In the bright lights between the kitchen and dining room, Cas’s face couldn’t be hidden in the shadows of a gazebo or the dim lighting of a restaurant’s dining room. 

Dean had never seen such a blatant display of sadness on someone’s face before. It wasn’t mixed with anger, or disappointment, or exacerbation -- just pure sadness. The frown never left his face, but now his eyes, which had a brightness to them during the rest of the night, lost their spark. He looked tired, but not with exhaustion due to the late hour. Dean caused that. 

“I’m sorry --”

“Look --” 

They both started at the same time and then closed their mouths, glancing away. When did this get so awkward? 

“I want -- need you to understand that I didn’t ask you to stay just so we could… you know --,” Cas sighed, “I can’t, in good faith, let you drive in this when we could barely make it around a turn without sliding off the road. I like you, a lot, and this night was amazing, but I don’t want to rush things.”

Dean swallowed hard. 

“I’m not very good at this,” was all he could say in response. 

The small statement brought a hesitant smile back to Cas’s face

“I’m not either. It’s been a few years since I’ve gone on a date -- and I wasn’t even expecting this to _be_ a date.”

“You said it was in the car though.”

Cas full-on smiled now, the lines on his face reversing themselves and a spark returned to his eyes. 

“That’s because you asked, and I felt bold. You’re the one who had to do the little strip tease when you towed my car.” 

Dean felt the heat surge to his face and laughed. He had a couple drinks that night before Cas called and felt bold himself.

“Well, how else was I supposed to show I was interested? Use my words?” 

The tension broke between them, but they didn’t move in for any more physical contact. Not right then. Cas instructed Dean to unfold the bed from the loveseat in the living room while he went to get some sheets and bedclothes. 

Dean wandered into the room, more relaxed, and stopped as he took in the cozy sight: Two couches sat at an L shape, one smaller one longer, which framed a small coffee table. Beyond that, underneath an oak mantle, was a gas fireplace that already had the flames burning in the fiberglass wood. Next to that, just beyond the heat, was a Christmas tree, decorated head to toe with sentimental looking ornaments, garland, and lights. Atop the tree was an ornate, golden angel with flowing hair around her and a star in one hand. A decent-sized television sat on a ground stand on the other side of the fire, starting blank and lifeless at Dean. 

It was more decoration than Dean expected to find in the home of a bachelor. 

Underneath the bay window sat a small bench with some magazines on top. On the little shelf, in sharp contrast with the hard winter image beyond the glass, sat several different plants. Dean didn’t recognize any of them but liked the little cactus one with the flower. 

It felt like a home worth coming back to. 

Dean heard Cas move around upstairs and a closet closing. He moved over to the table and realized he didn’t know where to put it. 

“I don’t know where to put this,” Dean said as Cas descended the stairs, arms full with a comforter, sheets, and two pillows. 

Cas reached the bottom and looked over, “Oh, right. Hang on.” 

He dumped the pile of things onto the loveseat and took the random bits and bobs off the table before grabbing an end, “We’ll just put it in my office.” 

Dean could have handled the table himself but didn’t protest they both moved it carefully around the furniture and into an adjacent room, colder and the lights shut off. The rainbows lights of Cas’s neighbor provided enough glow for Dean to see an L-shaped desk with other shelving units, more plants, and stacks of paper and notebooks around. It occurred to Dean then that he had no idea what Cas did for a living. He made a mental note to ask. 

Back in the living room, Cas took the pile of things off the cushion, removed the cushion itself, and Dean undid the bed before Cas could step in to help. He wanted to feel like he was doing something to apologize for his behavior earlier. 

They worked in silence as the sheets went on and the pillows were set. The end of the bed reached just far enough away from the fire where Dean’s feet wouldn’t burn, but close enough where he wouldn’t freeze either. It felt way too cozy, far better than the shoddy electrical heating in his own apartment. 

It was when Cas mumbled something and went upstairs again that Dean realized he didn’t want to leave this space. He wanted to live in this small room with the fire, tree, TV, and little cactus plant; he wanted to be surrounded by warmth and just hide under the comforter; he wanted it to be snowing and night time forever while he and Cas sat on the bed, or couch, or in front of the fire, and --

“Okay, I think you can fit into this, we’re roughly the same size I think,” Cas said, coming down with two pairs of flannel pants and two t-shirts. At some point while upstairs, Cas changed out of his own dressy attire into his own shirt and flannel pants. Dean realized then he had only ever seen the man in a white shirt and tie or in some other business-type clothing.

Except for that time in July -- 

“Thanks,” Dean choked out as his daydream died in his throat, “I’ll go change --”

He took the clothes from Cas and slipped into the downstairs bathroom across the hall, pressing his forehead against the door as the fan provided white noise. 

Dean didn’t know how to deal with any of this. 

_What are you so afraid of_ a small voice piped up in the back of his mind while he analyzed the waistband of the pants. 

Because the last time he felt like this, she ended it three weeks later and Dean felt so horrible, he didn’t leave his brother’s couch for a month. 

_What do you like him so much_ the voice also asked as Dean pulled on the t-shirt, smiling at the faded Block Island logo on it. It seemed so opposite to how he always saw Cas -- 

_Why are you afraid_

Looking up into the mirror, Dean felt a rock drop into his stomach. His face put all his internal fear on display, dark shadows under his eyes, highlighted by the florescent lights; skin pale, eyes wide, mouth thin -- and this was what Cas had been looking at since they walked through the door. 

When Cas had confirmed in the parking lot that yes, this was a date, Dean felt a swooping sensation that helped distract him from just how out of the norm everything was. 

In truth, Dean never thought he’d be here with the man he’d been daydreaming from afar for months. And now that man was a wall away in soft flannel pants and a t-shirt that looked old and well-loved, adding more fuel to the burning flame. 

Small rumblings of doubt started to awaken as Dean looked down from the mirror and splashed his face with water. The effort to keep the thoughts down inside, packed away where they’d never see the light of day, didn’t come easy, but Dean drowned it all out with the noise from the fan and the tap water. 

Fear. It was straight-up fear that he wouldn’t be good enough, or that he’d fuck it up like last time, or he’d go too fast because he didn’t know how to do _any_ of this. 

Sighing, he didn’t look at himself in the mirror again as he went over to the hand towel. He didn’t need that image in his head. 

Hands dry, Dean pulled at the t-shirt and pants, like he only just realized he was wearing Cas’s clothing. He closed his eyes and took another deep, shaky breath.

When Dean emerged from the bathroom, he saw Cas drawing the curtains closed over the bay window, the rings rattling on the rod. The bed looked more put together and there was now a glass of water on a side table that helped punctuate the L between the sofa and loveseat. 

“Are you tired?” Dean asked before his confidence wavered. 

Cas turned around as he pulled the final panel closed. He did look tired, but Dean must have looked more approachable now because Cas shook his head and kept eye contact. 

“Not really.”

Dean nodded over to the TV, “Do you have any Christmas movies?”

That took Cas off guard and Dean started to smile as saw the cogs turn in the man’s head. 

“Yeah. A few -- what are you into?” 

They both moved into that small space, framed by the couches, shoulder to shoulder as they flipped through an ancient binder with old DVDs, something Dean found way too endearing. 

_Die Hard_ flashed at them only a few sleeves in, and Dean pulled it out without a word and gave Cas a questioning look. Cas nodded as he reached down to the shelf below the TV and pulled out the remotes. 

They didn’t both sit on the bed, Cas realizing that maybe it was too much. Dean took the pillows and doubled them up, scooching down a little so he rested nearer the couch next to him. Cas took the pillows on the couch and tucked them against the armrest.

They were close, but Cas, true to word, didn’t want to rush anything. Dean wasn’t staying the night for a romp. 

But they were still close. 

As John McClane dropped C4 down the elevator shaft, Dean glanced over to Cas and saw him beginning to close his eyes. The warmth from the fire and the dim light from the tree relaxed them both, mostly Dean, and his anxieties began to beg off. 

Dean swallowed hard and lowered the volume on the television. Cas had his eyes fully closed now, but Dean had to get it out -- 

“Do you know when I started to like you? Like, on this kind of level?” he asked, voice quiet so he didn’t disturb the peaceful surroundings. 

Cas’s eyes opened a little more as he tilted his head to look at Dean. 

_Don’t back off now_

“The fourth of July parade,” Dean whispered, “The little girl by the ice cream place -- she kept trying to get the candy thrown from the floats but all the bigger kids around her kept taking it. 

I saw you run up to a float that hadn’t passed yet, the Kiwanis Club one I think, and you must have sweet-talked them because they gave you a whole shopping bag’s worth of candy, and you gave it to the little girl’s mom.”

Cas moved his gaze away from Dean to fixate on a point just past him, trying to recall the memory. Dean smiled. 

“And you were wearing the most casual thing I think I’ve seen you in during our few months of knowing each other,” he teased. 

A small smile emerged on Cas’s face as he looked back to Dean, “And what was that?” 

“Bermuda shorts, pastel blue I think, a white polo shirt, and sneakers of all things -- sneakers. You also had sunglasses on, but I don’t know what kind of --” 

Cas cut Dean off as he leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his lips, more of a ghost of one than tangible, but Dean closed his eyes and let it linger. The anxiety that the fire melted completely vaporized with that one small action. 

“Church,” Cas murmured against Dean’s mouth. Dean, eyes still closed, frowned in confusion.

“What?” 

Cas pulled back and Dean almost chased him, but instead, he opened his eyes to that smile still on Cas’s face. He looked more awake now, the fire and television light reflecting off his eyes, giving him a mischievous glint.

“That church fundraiser that happened almost two weeks later,” Cas explained, “They were raising money for the homeless shelter. You were there with Bobby and a few others I assumed were coworkers. There was a table with food and you kept looking around before taking a cookie.

I thought ‘This grown man is looking around before he sneaks a cookie like his grandmother’s going to catch him’. And then, when you and your coworkers went to Sister Christine to give her the donation, I saw a cookie fall out of your pocket. You didn’t acknowledge it until everyone left, and when you bent down to pick it up, you looked at me for half a second. Your face was red, and you stuck your hands in your pockets before leaving. That look never got out of my head.”

Dean remembered that -- he told Bobby he’d work on eating healthier that summer after calling out constantly with stomach issues. A stupid thing, but Dean knew the number of shortbread cookies he took wouldn’t have been a good conversation later. It later turned out all Dean had to do was avoid nuts and lactose and he’d be out of the woods. 

As Dean opened his mouth to explain, Cas reached out and placed a warm hand on his cheek exposed to the air. It took every inch of strength not to turn into the touch and kiss Cas’s palm. 

“I could have gone to anyone when I got that car, but I chose your place on purpose. It was hard to ever get you off my mind every time I saw you,” Cas said.

In the brief moment of silence between them, Hans started talking from the TV, his voice quiet and faint: _It's Christmas, Theo, it's the time of miracles --_

Unable to help himself, Dean now leaned over, hand still resting on his cheek, and kissed Cas with the same energy they had back at the gazebo, under the mistletoe --

It was all going to be okay. 

**FIVE**

Despite the drawn curtains, the morning light illuminated the living room several hours later and it was _way_ too bright. Dean woke when the sound of a plow roared past the house, the bed rumbling beneath him. 

He squinted at the light before turning over, closing his eyes again. Too early, too tired -- 

Dean felt a soft brush of air against his cheek and his eyes opened at once. 

Next to him, on the second pillow and under the comforter, Cas slept on. The plow didn’t wake him at all. One arm curled under the pillow to give him some more height, and his face turned up slightly. 

The night came rushing back to Dean as he closed his eyes again, too tired to keep them open for long.

After Dean made his stance known with a long, deep kiss, he had moved over on the bed and threw the cover back. 

“It’s too hard to do this with you over there,” he said, nervous but hoping Cas would accept the invitation. Cas didn’t say anything as he sat up and reached over to the end table and picked up the remote for the fire and TV. 

“Setting it to sleep so I don’t burn the house down. Probably should have done this at the start,” he explained at Dean’s look. He then leaned over to the opposite edge of the sofa and reached down to the spot between arm and tree. Dean had to force his gaze away from the sight of the t-shirt riding up a little. Too much too soon. 

The tree, fire, and TV all were placed on a timer before Cas moved back, and shifted onto the pull-out as Dean moved over, placing the pillows next to each other. 

They ignored the rest of the movie, their time preoccupied with lazy kisses and trying not to fall asleep before one another. 

As Dean watched Cas sleep that morning, he realized with a kick of clarity and certainty to his chest, that he wanted to wake up next to this every morning. 

_Too fast, you’re going too fast --_

Dean ignored the voice in his head as he reached out with his hand and brushed a thumb over Cas’s bottom lip. 

He watched as Cas’s eyes fluttered open, getting used to the sudden brightness. Cas groaned in response and turned his head into the pillow and Dean just about melted into the mattress underneath them. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he teased, resting his hand on the edge of the pillow. 

“Too early,” Cas complained, voice muffled. 

Dean raised his head to look at the clock on the DVR under the TV. It was almost noon. 

“It’s almost noon,” he whispered, “And I’m hungry.”

Cas withdrew his head from hiding and glared at Dean with one eye open, and another squinted shut. 

“There’re some candy canes on the tree. Help yourself.”

“I was thinking something a little more filling,” Dean answered, “Not to brag or anything, but I can make a pretty decent omelet.”

“Sounds like bragging to me.”

Dean smiled and leaned in fully and placed a light kiss on Cas’s temple before sitting fully up. He stretched, his hands reaching for the ceiling, back arching, and could feel Cas’s eyes on him. 

When Dean turned back around, the pillow still hid most of Cas’s face but the hunger in his eyes was on full display. A shiver ran down the length of Dean’s spine, and he tapped Cas on the hip before slipping from the bed. 

Sighing, Cas lifted himself up as well, and Dean saw the small lines in the man’s face where the fold of the fabric pressed in. He once again bit the inside of his cheek to keep his mouth shut and to hold what he was about to say locked down inside him for the time being. 

_I love you_

“Merry Christmas,” Dean said instead.

Cas smiled for the first time that morning and raised a hand to fix his bedhead, much to Dean’s disappointment. 

“Merry Christmas,” Cas responded. 

“I feel bad I didn’t get you anything.”

Cas’s eyes slid from Dean’s to stare at the curtains behind him. 

“You can help me shovel.”

“Okay -- but food first, right?”

The laugh from Cas sounded better than Christmas songs, or church bells, or whatever happy sound people associate with the holiday. Dean almost said _fuck it_ and climbed back into bed, determined to not leave for the duration of the day. 

Cas climbed over Dean’s side of the bed and stood up. Before Dean could say anything, Cas drew him into a gentle kiss, a _good morning_ in its simplest form. 

A very merry Christmas to them both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 2 NOTES:  
> Hello! Good to see you!  
> This was pretty much inspired by a comment on the first installment of this story by [MittenWraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith). I couldn't walk away from it. I love these two guys way too much (and they love each other way too much shh)
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> Thank you to [faerie_lights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerie_lights/pseuds/faerie_lights) and [KelpietheThundergod ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod)for looking this over for me, despite the hectic holidays!  
> Photo credit to Benigno Hoyuela on Unsplash  
> I hope you all have a happy holiday season, no matter what you celebrate, however you celebrate it <3
> 
> -Jen | wigglebox


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fresh off establishing their newfound relationship, Dean invites Cas to a New year's Eve party. But, as the celebration rapidly approaches, Cas wonders if they can still hold onto the holiday magic.

**ONE**

They lasted six days before things snapped. 

The day after Christmas, Cas mused an overnight decision regarding the car while sitting in the drive-thru with all the other morning commuters. The Ford from the rental was nice, he liked it, he felt better in it than the Mercedes which the thought alone made him laugh. He knew it’d make Dean laugh too when he stopped by the shop on his way to work to drop off Dean’s iced mocha (“It’s _winter._ ” “It’s _good_.”). 

Start the new decade off right and get a new damn car; anything was better than the rotting thing in the shop. 

The roads were barely passable with large walls of plowed snow making every turn out of a driveway impossible as people resumed their post-Christmas lives. Dean and Cas spent most of their Christmas afternoon shoveling out the Impala and had to go back out every time a plow came whizzing by. 

But Christmas had been kind to them overall.

Dean left after a small supper and from the time he got home to around two in the morning, they kept their phones busy. 

They were tired but at least on the same page.

Cas arrived at the shop several minutes after his perilous journey into post-holiday traffic, keeping the car’s heat on low so the ice in Dean’s drink didn’t melt. 

The need for caffeine for both of them was strong with only four hours of sleep under their belt. 

Cas decided to hold off on asking Dean to come with him to the dealership, wanting to ask in person and not in the barely-conscious early morning hours. He wanted a well thought out plan in place, maybe to go that weekend. Start the decade off _right_.

The shop wouldn’t be open for another half hour, but Dean threw the gate open for Cas so he could park in back. A garage bay door was already up, and Dean was tapping a tire absentmindedly while looking in the other direction, reading off a clipboard. 

Through the windshield, Cas saw Dean look over, his face brightening with a smile despite the lack of sleep. He flashed one back and held up Dean’s drink, shaking it while also shaking his head. 

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Dean said as Cas slid out of the car and handed him the iced coffee. 

“It’s winter, I’m cold enough,” Cas said, holding both hands around his own styrofoam cup, “I hope that smile was for me and not for your weird beverage.”

Dean tugged on Cas’s coat until they were out of view of the lot’s security cameras, inside the garage bay, and kissed him. Short, sweet, and to the point. Cas almost went in for another before he realized he had to get out his question before rushing to work. 

“I have to ask you something --”

“I got a question --”

They spoke at the same time, and Dean shut his mouth first, gesturing at Cas to go first. 

“Listen--don’t work on my car okay?” 

Dean frowned, “Why?” 

“I was hoping you could come with me this weekend to try and find a new one.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Dean looked over to the Merc on the lift at the other garage bay. 

“You want me to accompany you to get a new car while denying my place of work to make money, thereby putting my paycheck in jeopardy?”

Cas’s stomach plummeted at the reply, eyes widening in horror. He didn’t even think when he made his decision about the fact this was _business_ for Dean and that was rude as well and--

“Hey, it’s cool,” Dean reassured Cas, “We have plenty of cars coming in for service after that freak snowstorm, and I was weighing the options of telling you that you’re better off without this thing anyway. You’re not the only one keeping us in business.” He finished with a smirk and patted Cas on the arm. 

“Well that’s good, I wouldn’t want to subject you to a life of poverty because I didn’t want to die on the highway,” Cas said, relaxing and rolling his eyes but unable to help the small smile creeping at the corners of his mouth. 

If he wasn’t watching at the exact right time, Cas would have missed the slight falter in Dean’s demeanor before he turned to go to the lift. Quick--barely there, but it happened; a flicker of something that didn’t sit right. He struck something, and it wasn’t good. No joke this time.

“I’ll call the yard and have this thing towed. You should get your papers out and anything else. You can stop by after work if you want,” he called over the noise of the lift bringing his car back to earth. 

“Will you be here?” 

Dean looked over and nodded. 

“Was there something you were going to say earlier?” Cas prompted, hoping to bring back the atmosphere of only a minute ago. He didn’t like the shift in energy. 

Keeping his eyes on the lever, Dean stayed silent until the car finally came down. Cas felt a twinge of fear that he said something wrong--what did he say again? Poverty? Dying on a highway? 

Dean locked the lever and walked back over, hands moving to his back pockets and staring at the floor. 

“Remember how I said my brother was too broke to get out here?” he asked. 

“Yeah--and you couldn’t go out there.” Cas meant to talk to Dean about that, possibly having a solution. Now wasn’t the time however as Dean stopped in front of Cas, head down. He stared at their feet, hands still in his pockets. 

“He’s being flown out by some lawyer friends of his for a New Year’s Eve party in New York,” Dean cleared his throat and looked up, “He said I was invited as well, along with a plus one.”

Dean paused, and Cas just stared at him, eyebrows raised, expectant. 

“Was there a question in there?” he teased. 

Rolling his eyes Dean half-heartedly kicked the toe of Cas’s shoe with his own. 

“Would you, Castiel Charleston of Darien, Connecticut, bearer of caffeine and owner of bad cars,” Dean smiled again, unsure but hopeful, “be my ‘plus one’ for New Year’s Eve?”

Cas wrinkled his nose and frowned, looking away as he pretended to think, “I don’t know. Do I have to wear a ballgown?”

“Nah, cocktail dress.”

They both took a moment to let the image sink in before laughing. The energy between them felt charged again after the random dead spot; Cas never wanted to feel that again. 

“Yeah, I’ll go with you,” Cas answered, taking a hesitant sip from his coffee. It burned the tip of his tongue and he made a face.

“Awesome. I’ll buy the train tickets once I get your car--”

“Why take the train? How far away is it?”

Dean faltered as he turned around to grab his drink. 

“It’s in White Plains. We can take Metro-North to the Harlem Station then pick up the--”

Cas shook his head, waving his hand, “That turns the trip from thirty minutes to nearly an hour. I can drive, or you can drive if you want.”

“I just figured since we’d both probably be drinking, it would be a safer option,” Dean explained, his voice growing quieter. Cas didn’t process that as he tried his coffee again. Still boiling. 

“I can limit myself if you wanted to have fun with your brother at the party. I think we should drive. I still got the Ford, no real risk of breaking down.”

Dean smiled, mouth tight and not reaching his eyes. Cas noted that the smile didn’t reach Dean’s eyes and opened his mouth to say something but his phone dinged with a new email. Pulling out his phone, Cas caught the time and panicked. 

“I have to go. I’ll text you,” he leaned in for a quick kiss which Dean returned, tight-lipped and a slight frown on his face.

Something in Cas told him to stay, the mood once again shifting to something... wrong. The But, Cathy called in sick and now Sue would have to wait an extra half hour for Cas to get there and replace her. 

Still --

When Cas opened the car door, he turned to give Dean a wave goodbye but saw he had already started undoing the wheel locks on the Mercedes, not paying attention. Cas frowned, but forced it to the back of his mind. They could talk later. 

A crash delayed Cas on the way home, and he didn't get back to Singer’s until nearly six-thirty, an hour and a half after they closed. He texted Dean with the update, getting an emotionless ‘okay’ in response. 

The chainlink gate was closed and locked, and there was only one light on in the back of the building. Cas’s Merc still sat in the back lot, looking sad and forgotten. 

They had been texting throughout most of the day with no problems. A joke here, an almost salacious text there--overall nothing that indicated problems. Cas relaxed throughout the day, and even Max asked him what the hell he was so giddy about because Cas didn’t _get_ giddy. The remark slapped the neutral look back on his face and hid his smile while he continued to read Dean’s text about an outlandish customer.

But now, standing outside the locked entrance, Cas felt that sense of uneasiness swell back up. 

Dialing the shop’s number, Cas watched the window in the back. 

“Singer’s,” Dean answered, sounding bored. 

“Knock knock,” Cas responded, and waved when Dean moved over to the window and pressed his face against it to see in the dark. 

Relief flooded him when he saw a wide grin return to Dean’s face, wiping clean the memory of the tight, barely-there smile from that morning. 

“Why did you call this phone,” Dean asked, pushing away from the window.

“I’m a paying customer--I should call the professional phone number shouldn’t I?” 

Over the line, Cas heard another huff of laughter as a door closed. The sensor lights in the lobby lit up as Dean crossed the space, phone still at his ear. 

“We’re closed for the night, sir.” The smile remained on Dean’s face as he walked right up to the door’s windowpane.

“I’m cold,” Cas frowned, almost pouted. 

Dean hung up the shop’s phone and unlocked the door. Under the column of “Will Work During Dispute” in his head, Cas wrote _puppy-dog eyes and pout_. He also filed away his body’s faint reaction to hearing himself called ‘Sir’. That was something to explore a completely different day. 

Not on day three. 

Dean’s mood definitely improved during the day, and Cas felt more at ease around him as they transferred Cas’s belongings and important documents into the Ford. As Cas finished that task, Dean went to either side of the car and plucked out the license plates. 

“Seriously, what do I have to wear?” Cas asked, finding an old water bottle rolling around the floor in the back. 

“To what?” Dean answered, removing the front plate. 

“This party.”

“Oh,” a small clatter, and Dean poked his head up from beyond the hood, “Black tie. Look snazzy.”

“Three-piece suit with a cane, cape, and top hat?” 

Dean cocked his head for a brief moment of thought before shaking it, “Three-piece should be fine. These idiots are weird.” He ducked back down in front of the car. 

“If they’re so weird, why are we going?” Cas mused, shutting the back door, his cleaning mission done, “Why doesn’t your brother come here?” It occurred to Cas just then that he didn’t know the man’s name.

“Because I want free, extravagant booze and better fireworks than Farmer John can give me up in the sticks.”

That was a good point. 

They stood by as the tow truck hoisted up the now emptied car. Cas felt a small tug inside at the sight. The thing had given him stress on a daily basis, but it still felt like something he bonded to in a way. 

But he didn’t stop the truck from leaving the lot and turning onto the road. The last look at the Mercedes from Hell. 

“You good?” Dean asked, looking at Cas. 

Cas sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, “Yeah. Just a lot of changes within the past week.”

Dean reached over and grabbed Cas’s hand to make him look over. When Cas complied, he saw a serious, sober Dean that reminded him of earlier that morning. A shiver ran down his spine. 

Cas expected a comment that matched the tone of Dean’s expression. Instead, he got: 

Dean’s imitation of David Bowie as he sang ‘Changes’, a little off-key, a little off-tempo. Very loud, and very shameless. The “Ch-ch-ch” part sounded like the Mercedes’ engine around Thanksgiving, and he couldn’t help but let the laughter out of him, letting go of Dean’s hands and turning his back on him. 

“You really are a piece of work,” Cas said, wiping his eyes. He felt giddy again. Turning around, Dean stood there with a toothy grin. “What?” 

“What are you doing for dinner?” 

**TWO**

The week progressed with them exchanging flirty texts some more that Friday, but unable to have dinner because Bobby came back and “I promised the guy a night at Triple Sliders” Dean texted. 

Saturday, they went out and looked at cars. Cas didn’t want to go home that day with something new, telling Dean he’d rather sleep on it and not rush into a decision. 

He stood there dutifully as Dean spoke with all the dealers whether they were at a shiny dealership and a used car lot. Sometimes the conversation got heated, other times they laughed--Cas had no idea what they were talking about. 

Cas gave Dean his parameters (“All Wheel Drive is the main thing, nothing over forty-thousand please, and heated seats are a must”) and they went dealership hopping. 

“Anything standing out to you?” Dean asked, driving the Ford while Cas spaced out, lost in thought. 

Shaking his head, Cas sighed, “Everything seems either like a tank or like a tin-can.” 

“Modern cars are pretty shitty,” Dean lamented, “Unless you got a million dollars in the bank and can really splurge.”

Cas swallowed hard and looked the other way. 

Sunday, they went shopping for suits; Hard thing to do when you’re two days away from a party and can’t get anything tailored, but a quick stop at Kohl’s, then Lord and Taylor, did the trick. It wasn’t anything fancy, and maybe they’d be pegged as lower-middle-class right from the off, but Cas figured they’d be fine. 

“Suspenders and a bowtie,” Dean teased, shaking his head as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“The pants were too big.”

“Wear a belt!”

“I intend to, but if I pulled it too tight, the pants would look crumpled --”

Dean smirked and glanced over when they got to the red light, “The bow-tie though.”

Cas rolled his eyes and swatted Dean on the leg as they accelerated, “I wear a tie every day. I wanted a change.”

“Meanwhile I actually got a three-piece suit, you coward.”

“Sorry you can’t pull off a bow-tie and suspenders. We all have our faults,” Cas sniffed and looked out the window. Regardless of the teasing, he knew Dean liked the suit in the end. He liked it very much.

The past two days they spent together made Cas’s blood boil in the best way. Christmas Day, they were still hesitant with each other, but here they were only three days later, and Dean felt comfortable pinning Cas against the mirror in the dressing room. Their bodies almost pressed together, and Cas was too focused on trying to keep his hips under control to pay attention to anything else. Dean made it clear, and Cas also made it clear: Don’t take it too fast. 

“So you like it?” Cas had said once they parted, a little breathless. Dean looked frenzied, more out of control than Cas expected. A flash of fantasy then skittered across his mind, displaying itself in glimpses: Them both in the dressing room, maybe this one, maybe a different one; Dean leaned over, stance a little wide, only wearing some kind of dress shirt; Cas isn’t much dressed himself; He focuses on the reflection in the mirror, their hips together and Cas’s fingers leaving marks on Dean’s skin as they move; Dean hangs his head and mumbles something, Cas demands to know what; there’s a ‘Sir’ somewhere in that unintelligible sentence.

Cas had blinked and sucked a breath in fast through his nose and Dean only smirked before turning back to get to his own room. Still against the wall, Cas forced himself to dissolve the fire that started pooling inside. 

Now, sitting in the car on the way back to Cas’s house, they sat mostly in silence. 

Dean didn’t stay for dinner for the third night in a row (Saturday night was “apartment sitting my neighbor’s plants”). Tonight’s excuse was “headache, long drive home”. 

Cas knew he should pay attention to the excuses, but after the moment in the dressing room that day, he wanted nothing more than a cold shower and a cup of coffee.

 _Don’t rush_. 

**THREE**

Monday, Cas started to acknowledge Dean’s ‘off’ behavior. 

That morning, he got him a coffee again, but this time it was a dark roast with no milk or sugar and two espresso shots. 

“You want a heart attack to start the new year?” Cas asked over the phone.

“I just didn’t sleep well last night,” Dean replied, Cas able to hear the exhaustion through the speaker. 

Cas delivered the coffee and watched as Dean opened the top and blew, trying to cool it down faster. His hands were already shaking. 

“How many cups have you had already?” he asked, frowning. 

“Not enough,” Dean tried a smile but failed. He didn’t seem to care. 

“What happened last night? Was it your head? Are you sick--because we can cancel going to this thing tomorrow--”

“No,” Dean shook his head. His eyes had a slightly wild spark to them, “I’m not sick, I just couldn’t sleep, like, at all last night and my neighbors were playing their music loud, and I am just feeling… blah.”

Cas kept his eyes on Dean’s face, taking in the slight shadows under his eyes, tight mouth which drew lines of displeasure--his skin looked paler. Too pale. Even for Winter. 

“Do you want to go home? I can take you and--”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll be fine,” Dean said as he gave Cas a small smile, turned, and walked back to the offices. 

They didn’t say goodbye. 

Dean’s texts weren’t wordy, and he ignored the flirty ones. 

When Cas drove by the shop on his way home, everything was locked up, and no light shone through a window in the back. He had a sudden desire to drive to Dean’s apartment and break down the door, making sure the man was still alive. Cas didn’t _think_ he personally had done anything wrong--unless he really did have a little moment back in the dressing room and Dean… felt it. 

Cas couldn’t remember. His brain blanked on that whole time, only having the energy to focus on keeping himself still and not bending Dean over right then and there.

Did he screw up? Dean had seemed fine in the car after shopping--

Picking up his phone at a red light, anxiety rising to his throat, Cas called Dean. The car’s Bluetooth filled the cabin with a loud ringing noise. It tried four times before heading to voicemail. _This is Dean’s phone, you know what to do._ Beep. 

Cas hung up and put the phone back down. Maybe he should go to the apartment. Shelton. Cas could take Route 15 instead of I-95. He hated getting on Route 8 in Bridgeport, especially at this time of day. From there, Cas --

It hit Cas like a punch in the stomach when he realized… he didn’t know _where_ he was going. He had no idea what street Dean lived on.

Confused, Cas went back to his phone and tried calling again. Nothing. This time, he left a message:

“Hello, Dean--Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I drove by the shop and you weren’t there, and you seemed off earlier. Let me know if you want me to stop by your place. I can always bring you something.”

Cas didn’t know how to end it, biting off the “I love you” once more before it could escape. If he screwed things up by going too fast in a dressing room, an “I love you” seemed off the mark. 

Especially since he had no idea where Dean even lived. 

About an hour later, as Cas opened up some leftover pasta, his phone rang. 

He almost dropped the Tupperware as he scrambled to the island where the phone buzzed and sang. 

“Hello?” Cas answered, not looking at the caller ID before accepting. 

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, his voice quiet on the other line.

“Hey. Are --is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry--I took your advice and went home. Felt like crap,” Dean sniffed, but it sounded more like a crying one than a sick one, “I was sleeping when you called.”

Cas sighed and leaned against the counter. 

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“I’m just a little sick, Cas--I’ll be okay for tomorrow though. I just --”

“Dean,” Cas interrupted, soft but stern. Dean stopped talking. “Why are you lying to me?”

It wasn’t an accusation, and Cas kept his voice even and quiet; an honest question. Dean wasn’t sick--he’d been off since the day after Christmas and Cas only kept pushing it down and away, his fault. 

The guilt crept up as Cas heard a soft _dammit_ over the line. One week in and he was already blowing it as far as awareness went. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, his voice still quiet, “You’re right--yeah. I’m not sick. I’m just nervous.”

Cas frowned at his half-heated dinner, “About what?” 

He only got a sigh for an answer. 

“Dean--is it about the party?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen my brother in a while and people like the ones we’ll be around stress me out.”

“I still don’t understand why he can’t just come back here.”

Dean sniffed again, Cas felt better hearing it less watery this time.

“He has to go back out for some work thing the next day, and driving him from Shelton to La Guardia the day after New Year’s is not how I wanted to start the decade.”

He had a point, Cas thought. 

“Well, I’ll be with you,” Cas offered as he popped the food back in the microwave, “If that counts for anything.”

“Of course it does,” Dean answered, sounding indignant. 

They both paused, and Cas watched his dinner spin on the plate, weighing his options.

“Do you want me to come over?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want to sound too eager, thinking about yesterday in the dressing room. If he _did_ go over, he’d have to sleep on the couch or something or he’d wake up in a world of embarrassment.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll be okay,” Dean answered, and Cas felt a mixture of disappointment and relief, “Can you just talk? For a little bit?”

Cas sat at his kitchen island and he heard a small noise as Dean settled somewhere as well. They talked about nothing substantial, but it didn’t matter. They just wanted to hear the other’s voice. 

In the back of his mind, Cas made a list:

_Brother’s name_

_Dean’s address_

**FOUR**

Dean seemed right on track the next day. 

They hung up around two in the morning, Dean sounding much better and even laughing and cracking jokes about customers and other dumb things he’d seen on TV. Cas went to bed with a smile after hearing that laughter. 

They had plans for lunch around noon by the docks. Nothing off there. They ate fine, and Cas did not bring up the previous day, knowing better. 

He had those moments too. If anything, it was a defining characteristic for him with his family growing up. Cas would get into depressive episodes and leave the house for days at a time. After the first Silver Alert, his parents eventually understood what was going on. They let him go off a few times, but only if he agreed to see a therapist. Cas had complied with their compromise and found the experience more uplifting than stomping away in anger and sadness. 

Dean had just needed some time alone as well.

 _Please just tell me when that happens,_ Cas thought when he called over for the check.

He added another thing to the list in the back of his mind: _Depressive episodes?_

That one may have to wait until they progressed a little further in their relationship. 

Dean followed Cas back to the house where they lounged around for a few hours, watching random old movies Dean brought with him. They weren’t usually movies Cas would gravitate towards, but it made Dean smile and that’s what he wanted right now. And he really needed the distraction.

They couldn’t get too comfortable, but they still sat lounging against each other on the loveseat. Cas held his breath when Dean had come back to the seat after putting ‘Roadhouse’ in the DVD player. Just like in the dressing room, another flipbook of fantasy dreams began playing themselves out before Cas could struggle to stop them: Himself on his knees with Dean sitting on the loveseat, his legs splayed open; Cas sitting on the cushion while Dean faced the other way, in his lap, back arched like it was on Christmas morning; pillows and blankets in front of the fire, someone’s legs are wrapped around someone’s waist and Cas can’t tell who but --

“You okay?” Dean asked, voice sounding far away while Cas tried to bring himself out of his flash-day dream. 

“Yeah, sorry. Just spacing out.”

The party started at nine o’clock. As seven rolled around, and they took turns in the shower, Dean’s mood began to slip again. Cas knew what to look for now. Their conversation began to quiet, and Dean’s eyes looked everywhere but at Cas. He may not know everything but Cas knew at least the basics. Cas stood against the opposite wall as Dean emerged from the upstairs bathroom, post-shower, dress pants and undershirt already on. 

“Hi,” Dean said, a little confused. 

“Hello,” Cas smiled.

Dean narrowed his eyes with suspicion, “What are you doing up here?” 

Cas didn’t answer the question with his words and instead stepped forward, slid a hand around the back of Dean’s head, pulling him into a deep kiss. His fingers brushed against damp hair and he could feel the radiating heat from Dean’s freshly showered skin. 

The tension in Dean’s body melted away, and he slowly moved them against the wall. It was the dressing room all over again and Cas, feeling that rising heat settle into his veins, became very aware of his bedroom off to the right, door open and a lamp on by his bed. The sudden, blind desire to haul Dean by the collar of his undershirt to the bedroom flared up inside Cas, scaring him. But it still felt so good, and feeling Dean relax was worth it.

Cas didn’t move fast; he didn’t want to scare Dean. He gently tapped his fingers against the base of Dean’s neck, which Dean took as a signal to pull away, but then move onto Cas’s own neck.

Cas stamped out the desire to ask Dean if he was ‘okay’ because he felt like that’s all he’s been asking. 

“I still think I’m going to look better with my bowtie against your boring tie,” Cas said instead. 

Dean pulled back, a grin on his face, “It’s not about the outfit, it’s about the attitude.” 

“And you’re mister Vogue runway model, 2019?”

“When I want to be, so watch out.”

Cas laughed and swatted Dean on the arm, slipping away from him and into the bathroom. The water ran cold for his entire shower and it barely helped cool him off.

When Cas pulled onto I-95 south, the tension spiked again. 

The radio sang to them as Cas accelerated, glancing to his left as he merged. Traffic was heavy, but he figured they’d get there for around 9:30--no need to be _right_ on time. 

As Cas successfully merged onto the nightmare highway, the radio went from soft to shouting in half a second. He yelled, jumped, and looked over to Dean who had a hand on the audio wheel. A guilty wince etched itself into his face as he turned it down almost immediately. 

“Sorry--I didn’t realize how sensitive this thing was.”

He still set it louder than before, but not to the point where Cas’s ears wanted to bleed. Out of the corner of his eye, Cas saw Dean cross his arms, settle back into his seat, look out the window, and start to bounce his leg. 

Without a word, Cas reached out and placed a hand on Dean’s knee. Bouncing knees annoyed him. Dean didn’t look back to him but stopped. 

The energy was stiff and uncomfortable. Cas frowned at the taillights in front of him, hoping they could salvage something good out of their New Year’s Eve. The mood swings were making him a little nervous.

_Maybe you should have said no--you only just really started to get to know this guy. A bit much for a large celebration like this._

Did Cas know Dean? The behavior from the last thirty-six hours made Cas feel like he was suddenly tasked with a wild animal without a clue on how to keep it docile, or at least help it. 

_Brother’s name, address--_

Cas realized he didn’t even know Dean’s birthday. 

A wave of sadness crashed over him and settled into the tips of his fingers and toes, causing them to buzz. Cas knew that feeling and tried his best to keep his thoughts away from the spiraling void they’d wind up heading to. The self-doubt monster began to claw its way up from the pit of his stomach, and he sighed, trying to get the negativity out of him. 

They got so wrapped up in each other over the past week, they didn’t really get to _know_ each other. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do on dates? Dean had been over Cas’s house twice now, made-out with him in a dressing room, stayed _overnight_ on the first date--in all their conversations, when did they really get to know each other? 

Cas tried to remember if he ever told Dean where he worked, horrified when the answer couldn’t come to him. 

_It’s only been a week, give it some time_

The thought didn’t help. Guilt accompanied the self-doubt monster, whispering the fantasy daydreams back at him. Cas already felt bad about those; both of them agreed to take it slow, but now--the knowledge of having those thoughts of Dean on his knees while Cas didn’t even know his _birthday_ was --

Did he really want a relationship with this man or just a hookup? 

“Hey, is that our exit?” Dean’s voice came to him, and Cas blinked himself out of his thought spiral to cross three lanes to hop on I-287, swearing. He felt Dean’s eyes on him and for the first time in a week, months--Cas wished Dean would look somewhere else. 

**FIVE**

The party sat on the ninth floor of a mostly all-glass, circular building, hacked at an angle at the very top; very clear it was the newest building on the block, sticking out from the rest of the industrial structures.

As they pulled into the parking lot, Cas saw the ninth floor lit up on one side. Various other office windows had a light on here and there, but that section glowed golden and bright. He glanced at Dean who also was adjusting his jacket, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sighing to himself, pushing the crisis that started in the car deep down, Cas walked over to the other side of the car and stood in front of Dean, blocking his view of the building. 

“Ready?” 

Dean inhaled and nodded, keeping eye contact (a good sign, Cas marked).

“Yeah--I think now that I’m here it’s a little better. I need a drink first thing though.”

“How about you introduce me to your brother first?” Cas suggested. 

“Drinks, then Sam, then Sam’s girlfriend, then more drinks,” Dean listed off as he counted the fingers on his hand. He frowned at the fifth untouched one before brightening, “Then we dance.”

Cas laughed and shook his head, “I don’t dance.”

Dean said nothing, only offering a mischievous smirk and holding out his arm. The smile returned to both their faces, small and soft but still there, as they walked through the doors and into the building’s atrium. 

At least Cas knew the name now.

Steady, upbeat jazz music greeted Dean and Cas when they stepped off the elevator; a large room, most likely used for conferences and presentations on a large scale. Too many people to count were packed in the space, all chattering and laughing. Someone had decked the room out for a party with golden lights hanging from the ceiling and a “HAPPY NEW YEAR” banner, splashed in silver and gold, over the windows by the bar. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city around them on the curve of the building; the highway glittered with headlights in the distance. 

A few tables, both for standing and sitting, were off to the sides with little candles placed in gold jars on white table cloths. A small area had been set up on the right with the jazz band, dressed in their 1940’s best. Everyone had their party best on from sparkly cocktail dresses to finely tailored suits. 

Cas tried not to think about the belt holding up his too-loose pants and the jacket he bought on clearance.

“I should have picked the bowtie with the silver pattern,” he mumbled. 

“You still look great, so don’t even start,” Dean whispered back, his face a little brighter now, looking healthier in the light. Cas sighed, but swallowed his nerves to enjoy the last night of the decade. 

Dean took his hand, and led him into the crowd, looking for his brother.

They didn’t have to go far. 

Sam and his fiancee stood at a table off to the left, talking with some men. As soon as he saw Dean, he waved and the other men clapped him on the shoulder before leaving. While passing Dean, they shook his hand and also patted him on the back, wide and toothy grins on their faces. The drinks in their hands made them more personable, their faces 

Dean left Cas’s side and rushed over to Sam, locking him into a ‘bro’ hug, complete with slaps on the back and laughter. Dean was the tallest person Cas knew and he now realized that apparently, Dean was the tiny one in their gene pool. Sam and Dean both had on the same style suit and color tie, the only difference being the little fireworks pattern on Sam’s. Dazzling smiles also ran in the family, and both couldn’t stop as they exchanged greetings before Dean turned to the young woman next to Sam--embracing her with the same kind of ferocity. She laughed and swatted him playfully over the head, making her bedazzled red cocktail dress sparkle in the light. 

Another crushing tidal wave of deep sadness rushed through Cas at the sight. First, he thought of how long it’s been since Dean and Sam last saw each other, and how sad Dean looked at Christmas when talking about it--

Then Cas tried to conjure a memory of his own family, and their own greetings at holiday events. 

Nothing. 

“Cas!” Dean called over through the noise and music, waving his hand. All eyes at the table settled on him and he summoned up a warm smile and walked over. 

“So where do you work? Is it in the state or city?” Sam asked as Dean walked away to the bar, his empty glass in hand.

The conversation after initial greetings turned to Sam and Dean catching up, while Cas and Eileen, the woman in sparkling red, made polite conversation. He didn’t know much sign language, but she kindly told him to speak normally, able to read his lips. 

At some point, their drinks ran low, Eileen was pulled away by two other women, and Dean had left to get a refill, leaving Cas at the table with Sam. 

Cas cleared his throat and looked at the rest of his drink in the glass. 

“I work at Stamford Hospital.”

“Oh! Are you a doctor?” 

Cas shook his head, aware he wasn’t in the right headspace at the moment to talk about it, “No, I didn’t really, uh--I’m a receptionist. I heard Dean ask you how your case was going, you have your own practice?”

“Not my own, but I’m working on getting my name in there somehow. Defense case--pretty sure the guy’s step-father is framing him for murder.”

Sam took a sip from his glass while Cas almost sighed with relief that there were no more questions about his profession. When the question came out of Sam’s mouth, Cas realized that he _hadn’t_ ever told Dean what he did. 

They fell into a mildly awkward silence as the band picked up a jaunty beat. The night had only really begun but Cas already felt like he was a weird, out-of-place puzzle piece. And to think Dean was the one nervous about not fitting in--

Clearing his throat, Cas looked up from his glass at Sam. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have much to talk about with you, Dean hasn’t talked a lot about his family in our time together so far.” _Not like you ever prompted him_. 

Sam sighed and flashed Cas a sympathetic smile before glancing over to Dean at the bar. 

“There’s really not too much to talk about, I’m all there’s left.”

The bluntness of the statement took Cas off guard and he almost choked on the sip he had just taken. 

“You’re all that’s… he didn’t mention that,” Cas said, wincing at his slightly petulant tone. 

_He didn’t mention his parents when you asked him his Christmas plans_ a small voice piped up in the back of his mind. Cas felt slight nausea take over. All the missed chances to ask Dean about things. Dinners, dates, shopping, a car ride--

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, or him. It’s not a topic he talks about easily.”

“But you can?” Cas almost kicked himself at his dryness.

Sam shrugged and downed the rest of his drink, “We all have different ways of coping.”

Cas swallowed, and glanced at Sam, his curiosity getting the better of him, “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking?” 

Shaking his head, Sam placed the weighted glass down on the small table with a soft _thump_. 

“I’ll have him tell you that. It’s his fault he hasn’t told you, which was surprising given I’m sure you took the highway here. That must have been fun”

“What does that--”

“I will say this, not to get all cryptic on you but--,” Sam turned to face Cas, face lined with a sober seriousness that he must have practiced hard in law school, “Don’t coddle him, but don’t let him hide. He does that a lot.”

Cas frowned, confused, “I don’t --”

Before he could finish the sentence, Dean bounced back to the table with his refilled cocktail and a smile on his face ten miles wide. 

“Didn’t realize the tab was on the host!” he exclaimed over the music.

Sam smiled back and held up his own, pointing to the bar. Cas tapped his fingers on his own glass, thoughts a million lightyears away from the events at the table. A dull ringing began between his ears as the guilt and self-doubt rose back into action. 

Sam walked away from the table for his own refill; Cas hardly noticed. 

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, the smile faltering slightly as Cas turned to look at him. 

They needed to fix this tonight. There were too many roads and twisted yarns that needed sorting and they were starting to make Cas dizzy. The past week stretched out behind him like a fragile bridge and if they were going to go forward, they needed to start the journey now.

His hands shook as he raised his glass and downed the rest in one go, Dean’s eyes still on him. Cas needed liquid courage. Dean had his story to tell, and that meant Cas had to drag his own family history out of the closet. 

_Don’t let him hide._

_Don’t let yourself hide._

“Can we go talk?” Cas asked, finally bringing his glass back down. 

Dean’s face fell and Cas immediately shook his head, realizing what it sounded like.

“No, no, not like that--I promise. I just want to get away from the noise and everything,” Cas explained, not lying but also not divulging the full truth as he took Dean’s hand for reassurance. “Bad phrasing.”

Worry still lined Dean’s face but he gave Cas’s hand a little squeeze of agreement before allowing himself to be pulled from the crowd. Cas could hear his own heart in his ears, and the ringing noise started to increase in volume. 

Dean had seen Cas at the parade over the summer helping the little girl out, but he didn’t know it was because the little girl and her mom always came to the hospital to visit her father every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday, always saying good morning with a smile. Cas didn’t know why Dean drove forty minutes to work each day, and Sam’s comment about a ‘highway’ hung in the back of his head. Another thing added to the list. Guilt from the fantasy daydreams tugged at Cas as he thought about his internal episode in the car. 

They couldn’t go forward without knowing more about each other.

**SIX**

The building had a tall center atrium that went all the way up, open-air, to the slated windows on the roof, held up by some arching metal beams. On the ground floor, three small fountains continued their duty, long after everyone went home for the day. The party on the ninth floor was the only source of activity, and there was still another nine floors above that. Each floor had a circular shape to them, and each office and business stacked on top of each other, tucked away from the edge to the atrium.

Along the glass barrier and metal railing at the edge of the floor sat some simple, backless benches, keeping with the minimalistic, modern theme. Cas pulled Dean over to one on the other side of the floor. The party across the way echoed up into the atrium with bright beats and sporadic peels of laughter. 

The lights didn’t trip when they sat down, leaving them in darkness with only the light from the city filtering in through the windows. Cas sat without a word and Dean followed suit, placing his drink on the ground. They both sat in silence for a minute, just watching people from afar mingle with each other. 

Cas didn’t know how to start. 

“What is --” Dean began, but Cas held up a hand, cutting him off.

“Do you know how old I am?” 

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with the incoming answer. Dean turned to look at Cas, but Cas couldn’t look back.

“No--I don’t know how old you are.”

Cas nodded, “And I don’t know how old _you_ are. Do you know where I work?”

A pause, then: “No.”

“And I don’t know when your birthday is. Or where you live. Or why you travel forty minutes to get to work every day --”

“Cas what --”

Cas finally turned to meet Dean’s confused look, “It occurred to me a couple of days ago that we may not know much, if anything, about each other.” 

No answer to that statement. They both knew it was true. Cas had to keep going before he lost his willpower:

“I only learned your brother’s name in the parking lot an hour ago, don’t know why you never mention your parents,” (Dean tenses), “When your birthday is, how old you are, why you even wanted to become a mechanic--and you don’t know where I work, when _my_ birthday is, or anything about _my_ family.”

“Cas, can I ask something?” Dean asked, voice quiet and steady. Cas nodded and closed his mouth. The slight ringing in his ears continued. “What did Sam talk to you about?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Seriously, noth--”

“People don’t find out everything about each other in the first week they see each other!” Dean snapped. Cas winced at his tone, “I’ll admit it’s weird we don’t even know our ages but I assumed family history comes later down the road.”

“I would have probably agreed with you, but you’ve been acting strange the past few days, and I couldn’t even go to your apartment the other day to help because I didn’t even have an address!” 

Their voices were getting louder.

“I mean, fine! If we’re going to ask questions--why does a man, living alone, with no family around and who said he spends the holidays alone, deck his whole house out for the holiday? Why does someone gift you a _Mercedes_ , regardless if it works or not? And, in fact, how old _are_ you? Are you secretly an eighty-year-old with a Benjamin Button thing because--”

Cas turned and stood up, running his hands over his face. It was harder than he thought to get this to the surface. He kept his back to Dean, composing his thoughts. The truth was that _yes_ , most would be explained over the course of their relationship, and _yes_ they agreed not to rush this, but--

_But what?_

Cas couldn’t keep his thoughts straight. Downing the rest of his drink in one go earlier was a mistake.

“Cas,” Dean said from behind him, voice back to a normal level but still stern, “What’s this about?”

All’s fair in love and honestly, right?

They were here now. 

Turning around, Cas lowered his hands and shrugged, surrendering, “I want to pin you to my bed and screw you senseless so you can’t walk in the morning, but having that desire without even knowing the basics about you makes... makes this whole thing seem like first,” Cas ticked up a finger, “I’m going back on my promise to keep things slow, and second,” he ticked up another one, “if we do decide when to get to--all that--and we don’t know anything about each other other than our car problems and that I decorate for Christmas, it won’t feel… I don’t know--”

He paused, losing the words he wanted to use.

“It won’t feel real.” Dean supplied. Cas nodded, unable to read the expression on Dean’s face, nerves firing off in all directions now. But, the corners of Dean’s mouth turned upward, “You want to screw me senseless?” 

Cas huffed and narrowed his eyes, “Out of all that, you took away that one thing?”

Shaking his head, Dean beckoned Cas to come back over and sit. Obeying, Cas still felt shaky as he lowered himself onto the bench. Things around him still seemed unstable, like if either one of them said the wrong thing, everything was over. One week. The shortest time ever for Cas to ruin a relationship. 

Dean reached over and hovered his hand over Cas’s, pausing before Cas reached up and grabbed it himself. 

“If we’re being fair, then I’ll tell you that I made excuses to not stay over your place because of that very same reason.”

Cas blinked, “Which reason?”

“You wanted to pin me to your bed and fuck me senseless? I wanted you to pin me to the bed, or the chair, or in front of the fireplace. It’s pretty hard to be around you and not want that, honestly.”

Cas kept his eyes on their hands, knowing he had a blush creeping up to his cheeks and if he looked over to Dean, he’d probably have the same look. 

“Do you think maybe we’re scared of going so fast because we don’t actually know much about each other?” Cas mused, mostly to himself as he ran a thumb over the back of Dean’s hand as he had at the gazebo.

“But what _if_ we’re going too fast? Every real relationship I had didn’t last much longer than this.”

Looking up, Cas saw the party still hammering on without them, almost like a whole different world. 

“Those relationships--did you really get to know any of them before getting into their bed?” he asked, turning to the side to finally look at Dean, who too had his eyes locked on the party.

“I guess...no. No, not really.”

Cas paused. Several things that bothered him in the past week began to converge into one solution, and nerves of fear began morphing into nerves of anticipation.

_Don’t let him hide_

“Then, I guess if we learn a little more about each other, this will feel less like a prolonged hookup, and more… bonding.”

Dean blinked himself out of the thousand-yard stare directed at the lawyers and looked over to Cas, face in amused confusion.

“Bonding?” 

“Leave me alone. That drink hit me fast.”

Looking down at their hands, Dean watched Cas’s movements over his hand, face softening. 

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

Dean inhaled deep and looked back up, eyes watery and reflecting the lights from across the way. Any other time this week, if Cas saw Dean in near tears, he would have panicked. But now, he felt close to tears himself.

“Let’s do this. To a point, though,” Dean pointed a finger at Cas, “I’m not going full Oprah here.”

Smiling, feeling a boulder beginning to lift off his shoulders, Cas nodded, “Sounds good to me.”

So, they talked. 

Ages first, because that was the most embarrassing lack of information. 

“I’m thirty-nine,” Cas said. 

“Thirty-five,” Dean responded, “And my birthday is on the twenty-fourth.”

“Of what?”

“Of this month.”

Cas paused, confused for a moment while the information processed, “Were you just going to spring this on me the day before?”

Dean didn’t respond, only shrugged. Cas then said his own birthday, August 2nd. Two down and a bunch more to go. Cas divulged his job, and Dean mentioned that he used to want to be a bartender until his father gave him the Impala at twenty-one, kickstarting his car--

“Fetish,” Cas supplied, causing a playful swat from Dean.

They continued to talk at length for about an hour, each topic and fact leading to another. They took turns asking questions, back and forth, to keep it fair. 

Dean only had Sam as a sibling, while Cas divulged he had two: Michael and Gabriel. 

“Gabriel is the one who gave you the Mercedes right?” 

“Unfortunately.”

Siblings, then sibling antics (“Gabriel told me when I was younger that TV characters will come out and attack if I didn’t pay attention.” “Sam superglued a soda bottle to my hand while I slept.”)

And then, the conversation led to where Cas knew it had to; staring the monsters right in the face. 

“Sam told me that he was all you had left for family,” Cas confessed. Dean swore softly and turned away for half a second and took a deep breath.

“Dean, if it’s too much we can stop.”

Shaking his head, he squeezed Cas’s hand a little harder. 

“I don’t have grandparents or any aunts and uncles,” he started, “Christmases were always small but it was still fun.

My parent’s anniversary was about a week before Christmas, the nineteenth, and they wound up flying to New York City for it--their twenty-fifth that year. I was already living here with my uncle --”

“I thought you said--”

Dean waved his hand, “He’s a ‘family friend’ uncle. I wanted to get out of the midwest and the west coast stresses me out. Anyway,” looking back down at their hands, he began playing with their fingers, absentmindedly bending them and straightening them out;

“I guess they wanted to surprise me because they left the city two nights after they arrived, heading north on I-95. Their rental car broke down in Greenwich. I guess it was the engine.”

Nausea began to rise in Cas; Dean continued to toy around, looking down.

“They pulled over to the shoulder like you’re supposed to, and put on their flashers like you’re supposed to --” he paused and Cas heard that same watery sniffle from the other night. 

“We don’t have to talk about this,” he offered softly, bringing his head closer to Dean’s. Sam’s words echoed in his head. 

_Don’t coddle him._ Maybe a different time. 

Shaking his head a little, Dean leaned in, “No, it’s good to get this out. I haven’t told anyone about it since it happened,” he sniffed again; 

“They were sitting on the guardrail while my father called AAA. A few minutes later, a tractor-trailer who was going probably twenty over the speed limit, lost control on the curve, and it was such a mild curve too, the jackass. 

The guy crashed head-on with my parents, hitting the car and then--”

Cas took advantage of the momentary pause, removed his hand from Dean’s, and drew him into a tight embrace. Dean went willingly, placing his hands on Cas’s back and burying his face in the crook of his neck. No one sobbed, but they let the tragedy sit and be acknowledged. Everything from the past several days came flying back to Cas at once, each one feeling like brass knuckles to the face: Avoiding the highway going to Harrington’s; Avoiding the highway coming back from Harrington’s, even with the snow it’d have been a faster trip; Cas’s joke about dying on the highway and Dean’s reaction; Dean wanting to take a train--”

“You weren’t nervous about the party at all, were you?” Cas asked. He felt Dean shake his head against him. Of course, he wasn’t nervous. As soon as they walked through the door it was clear that Dean had no ounce of hesitation approaching a sea of lawyers. 

Dean was scared of the trip, plain and simple; anxiety tipped off by the insistence they just drive to White Plains. 

Cas wished he had a time machine.

They stayed together for another minute before Dean withdrew. His eyes were still watery, but he didn’t have a full face of tears. There was probably more to the story, Cas thought, but they shouldn’t push their luck. Dean didn’t want to get ‘all Oprah’ that night. 

“I only have a brother left as well,” Cas started, unsure how to proceed. _You don’t need to tell him_ everything _, just the things that matter,_ “Michael died overseas in Afghanistan. An IUD got him and his team back in 2005.”

Dean frowned as he wiped his eyes, “Holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

Cas shook his head and looked down at his lap, “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay--because he’s gone--but ever since we were small, he wanted to join the military. So off he went right out of high school. I know this sounds crass, but if he was ever to die early in life, he’d want it to be while defending his country. At least that’s what he had said.”

Pausing, Cas drew in a deep breath and let it out fast through his nose, closing his eyes, “My mother had depression, honestly I think she was misdiagnosed and had more issues, but she miscarried an almost-sister for us. Long story short, her mental health took a decline, and… you know,” Cas waved his hand. He didn’t need to go into those details. Dean’s hand reached out again and took Cas’s, warm and comforting. Tears didn’t come as easily to Cas, but he still felt a lump in his throat. He hadn’t thought about his mother in years;

“Anyway, my father was eccentric and became even more so once she was gone and was never really helpful. He kept coming and going from the house, and then when I was fourteen, he just stopped showing up.

I decorate my house because my mom loved Christmas, favorite holiday. She started decorating as soon as October first came around. That was her angel up there on the top.”

A soft _Oh_ came out of Dean and Cas decided to bite the bullet.

“My mom’s death left us all with trust funds from her estate,” he said, slow, unable to look up and meet Dean’s eyes.

“Trust fund? Isn’t that a rich people thing?” Dean asked. Cas nodded. 

“I have several million dollars in a bank account.”

If the party hadn’t been as loud as it was, Cas would have probably heard Dean’s jaw drop. He finally looked up, saw confusion etched in every facial feature on Dean’s face, and sighed. 

“I don’t like talking about it, and I don’t really touch it. I’d rather save as much as I can.”

Dean nodded, closing his mouth. A worrying thought began to swim around in Cas’s brain, “Please don’t treat me differently with that information. You’re the first person I’ve ever told, and it’d be disappointing if all of a sudden things shifted because now you know I have...money.”

Frowning, Dean tilted his head and withdrew his hand, “I don’t need a sugar daddy, thanks.”

It took a second for Cas’s brain to recognize it as a joke but then he sniffed and looked at Dean up and down.

“I mean, I see the suit you’re wearing. It practically _screams_ department store,” he dismissed while adjusting his own department store suit jacket. 

Dean laughed, a wonderful sound after everything now spilled between them. 

“You’re such a walking Connecticut stereotype,” he teased. 

Cas had a come back ready to keep the joke going, but all the stress and worry building in him over the previous few days had gone out in one quick swoop, and the fire that began in the dressing room, the fire that Cas tried stomping out desperately, filled its place. 

They still had things to unlock from each other, but Dean was right, they could figure that out at a later time. The biggest things, the most emotional things, the things blocking them from giving them permission to do what they wanted, were out in the open now. 

A layer of trust blanketed them and that cranked the heat in Cas from zero to sixty in a flash. 

He leaned over and caught Dean in a delicate, restrained kiss--more questioning than demanding. 

Dean barely gave it half a second before bringing his hands up to cup Cas’s face, deepening the contact in an instant. The fire in Cas spread from the internal pool into the tips of his fingers and down to his toes.

It meant something new now.

Cas slid a hand onto Dean’s thigh, fingers higher up than he would have dared any other day—

The question between them: _Is this okay?_

Dean pulled away from Cas by only millimeters, withdrawing his hand and covering Cas’s on his leg, shifting it higher and higher until his fingers found the warmth where leg joined hip. 

_Yes._

Cas’s mind threw open the gates and set him loose. He took the initiative without hesitation, moving his hand further to skate across more fabric, a zipper, the heat practically absorbing them now. When Cas pressed into the front of Dean’s dress pants, a short and soft gasp filled his ears and he realized Dean moved his face away entirely, turning his head away from the party. Cas relished in the small, restrained movements of Dean’s hips, every fantasy from the past week flipping through in his mind again like a slide show on speed. 

When Cas also turned his head, hand still teasing, he found the spot under Dean’s ear. Smirking to himself, he pressed his lips against it before taking a quick nip. The choked back moan from Dean caused a bold of white-hot electricity to surge through Cas. Both of them were breathing heavily now and the cup of pure desire began to overflow in Cas. 

He didn’t want a quick handjob in the dark on a bench. 

“Do you think there are any open offices around here?” he breathed into Dean’s ear, and he felt a tangible shiver run through the man as he nodded against Cas’s shoulder.

With great effort, Cas withdrew his hand, and Dean groaned in protest. Standing, Cas suddenly realized just how hard he was himself. _This won’t last long_ he thought as he turned around, analyzing the heavy wooden doors and large interior windows around them. His eyes landed on an office further down the hall, near the party, with what looked like a black couch against the windows to the hallway. _Please please please please--_

He didn’t wait for Dean to stand before he made his way over, wincing at the feeling of the cheap zipper pressing against him. Closing his eyes, Cas grabbed the metal door handle and pressed down. 

It opened. 

He turned to tell Dean the good news, but Dean had already crossed the space between them, crowding himself against Cas while pushing the door inward. Cas allowed himself to be moved backward while Dean’s mouth descending on his again, not so much in a kiss but instead teasing and running a tongue over Cas’s bottom lip. It felt good--it felt so damn good and Cas could feel his body begin to hum with anticipation.

The sound of the door closing filled Cas’s ears and he reached behind Dean and pulled the lock. Their bubble closed in on them in and now it was time to let everything go. Distantly in his mind, Cas said a silent _sorry_ to whoever’s an office it was.

He pushed Dean against the door, kneeing his legs apart and pressing his own thigh in the space between. Dean broke free from Cas’s mouth at once, letting out a strangled moan into the open air. The sound sank deep into Cas as he felt Dean’s hips moving in earnest now, trying to get any friction he could. A strange sense of power rose alongside the fire billowing out of control inside Cas. 

They reallyweren’t going to last long _at all_. 

Cas seized the moment and stepped back slightly, his hands dropping down from Dean’s side, landing on his belt. 

“Take off your jacket,” he whispered, barely able to hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears.

When Cas glanced up to see Dean’s face, he almost lost it at how dark his eyes looked at the command. Cas leaned in and pressed his forehead against Dean’s as their hands got to work; buttons were undone; the cheap belt fell to the floor. 

Cas’s urgency to get at Dean rolled through him again as a heavy pulse. He wanted every inch of clothing off, everything out and there for the taking--

 _Not yet_. 

No, not yet. Not here in a random person’s office. It was a blessing in a way that none of them had lube or condoms. They were restricted--taking away the ability to let go completely with each other while in a public space. Cas wanted a bed, dim lights, to take his time and see just how wanton Dean could get. 

With one small tug, Dean’s dress pants slid down, pooling around his ankles. Dean for his part unbuttoned the jacket, slipped his arms out, and let it fall to the floor behind him. His hands went for the tie and waistcoat, but Cas stopped him. 

He wanted them on. 

“On the couch,” he ordered, locking eyes with Dean. He didn’t know where the need to command came from, certainly not his usual way of going about things, but he didn’t care--and judging by the look on Dean’s face, he didn’t care either. 

“Yes sir,” Dean quipped, raising his eyebrows at Cas’s tone. That word came roaring back to Cas, hauling out the other reaction from the other day and drove a wave of pleasure straight to his groin. 

“Oh, you liked that didn’t you?” Dean whispered, tilting his head to see Cas’s face better, a smirk growing, “You like that power-play?” 

Cas closed his eyes and shoved a hand down between his own legs, gripping hard enough to stop his body’s premature reaction to Dean’s voice. 

“Get on the couch,” Cas said again, stepping completely out of Dean’s space with all the willpower he could muster. 

Dean didn’t tease Cas again, and instead turned and moved to the black leather couch. The image of Dean still dressed in his shirt, tie, and waistcoat in contrast to only his boxer-briefs just below, caused Cas to press his tongue up against the back of his teeth so hard, he feared he might draw blood. 

As Dean slid onto the couch, he rolled up his sleeves before laying down completely on his back, allowing his legs to drape partially over the low, flat arm. He turned his head and licked his lips. 

“Draw me like one of your French girls.”

Cas wanted to roll his eyes at the cheesy joke but couldn’t stop his gaze from wandering over the length of Dean’s body laid out before him. 

Dean looked away and moved around on the couch slightly, arching his back as he settled into a more comfortable position. He finally stopped and blinked innocently over at Cas like he didn’t just put on a show. 

Cas held a neutral face, not breaking eye contact as he shucked off his coat, letting it fall to the floor. His hands went to his own belt buckle and slid it through the loops fast, tossing it somewhere next to him. Dean’s gaze broke first, moving his sight down as Cas shouldered his suspenders, letting one loose, then another, allowing the already-too-big dress pants to slide to the floor with an easy twitch of his hips. He stood before the couch in his shirt, loosened bowtie, and his boxer-briefs. A little barer than Dean, but still not giving away the entire plot. 

He could hear Dean’s swallow, and almost laughed, the giddiness coming back.

“I really need you on top of me right now,” Dean whispered. 

Cas agreed. 

As he moved over to the couch, Dean bent his legs, then let them fall open slightly, letting one foot hit the floor. Cas slipped into the open space but sat for a moment with a leg tucked under him, letting his hands wander; up the inner thigh, eliciting a choked off whine from Dean; back down and over the very prominent hard-on, barely touching it, which got Dean practically panting; up his stomach and under the shirt, pulling back and unbuttoning the waistcoat after all to get better access. Everything felt so _hot_. 

Cas wanted everything off, and he knew Dean felt the same way. 

“Not here,” Cas voiced out loud to himself, eyes following his hands, “Not here.”

Dean’s hands went up to his tie and loosened it down, but kept it on, drawing Cas’s eyes upward. The look of desperation that overtook any playfulness Dean had on his face shifted Cas into action. 

Leaning forward, he rested on his forearms, bending his head down to place a quick kiss on Dean’s mouth. 

“You good?” Cas asked, only able to choke out those two words.

Dean nodded, losing his own ability to speak. 

The desire Cas had since July to have Dean somehow in his arms cascaded over him again, and as he lowered his hips down, he almost cried out. 

Everything moved in a blur for Cas as they rocked together, moving in and out of reality as the fantasies from the previous days came back to him again; Legs wrapped around his waist, soft noises in his ear; Dean’s hips rising to meet him with every grind, slide, rolling movement that occurred. 

The clothing barrier didn’t matter, they still felt each other almost inch for inch, nerve for nerve, driving them near the point of oblivion faster than Cas had anticipated earlier.

Someone moaned; someone swore; someone begged for half a second before catching themselves. 

At one point, Cas wasn’t sure when, Dean’s hands slid from Cas’s back and traveled down, able to grip the skin under his briefs. The feeling of hot palms and fingers pushed Cas right to the cliff. All the _what-if’s_ that gave him grief for so long turned into _what-if’s_ of possibility and fascination. 

Sparks of fire and electricity continued to fire between them, and at one point, Cas shifted his hips before pressing them back down again, drawing up a soft whine from Dean. The sound caused Cas’s body to practically shake, needing to hear it again. He kept the angle and slide his groin over Dean’s again, and again, and again--each little subsequent whine growing louder, accompanied by a nip to Cas’s ear or Dean trying to claw at Cas’s back, protected by the shirt. 

They were close. Very close. They could see over the edge completely, and Cas lifted his head up, placing a finger on Dean’s cheek to turn and look up. His face was flushed across the cheeks and his mouth swelled slightly with all the contact it had with Cas’s. Cas’s imagination hit him with an image of what that mouth would look like around--

That did it. 

Cas rolled his hips fully down against Dean’s, pressure on both of their cocks, and rocked, moving back and forth as he squeezed his eyes shut. He felt Dean try to press him down further while also arching his back again before bucking his hips upward, unable to go very far. 

The white noise ringing in Cas’s head continued to echo as he heard their voices mix, a slew of curse words followed by _yes yes, just like that, yes_. 

Dean turned and pressed his mouth against Cas’s neck as they both began to slow their movements to lazy thrusts. 

Cas wanted more of it; he wanted more and more and to wake up to this; he wanted to wake up next to Dean just like he did on Christmas morning; he wanted to feel Dean shake in his arms every night; he wanted to whisper ‘I love you’ at all hours of the day and tease Dean and try to get him to lose composure-- 

Somewhere, off in the distance, Cas heard a pop, then a floor-shaking _boom_. 

He jumped, whipping his head to the left, heart in his throat, already out of breath. Another pop and boom, and the room lit up in a bright red, then white, then a blue and green--

“Happy New Year,” he heard Dean murmur below him, running a reassuring hand up Cas’s back. 

The fireworks continued out the office windows, and Cas’s brain finally caught up to the present. He looked down below him again and saw Dean looking back up, a little tired and worn, but his cheeks were still flushed and mouth was still swollen and _Christ,_ Cas could go for round two right now _\--_

“Happy New Year,” Cas whispered back before lowering himself, ignoring the growing discomfort in his underwear. Dean moved over on the couch so Cas could settle behind him and grabbed one of the discarded decorative pillows (Cas completely missed those) to rest their heads on. 

As Cas felt the thrumming in his body begin to ease as they watched the distant fireworks, hearing the crowd from the party rise in unison with various ooh’s! and aah’s! with every pop. 

“I think I decided what car I wanted,” Cas said before placing a kiss on the back of Dean’s neck. 

Dean made an inquisitive noise, and Cas smiled. 

“I think I want that Ford I’ve been driving around.”

A pause; Dean shifted a little onto his back to look back at Cas with concern and confusion, “We’re fifteen minutes into the new year and you decide that’s going to be your first major decision?” 

Cas smiled, feeling sleepy, “It wasn’t my first major decision, so don’t worry.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something but the fireworks began their finale, and Cas held up a finger to Dean’s mouth, “Shh.”

They watched the finale in silence, pressed together on a stranger’s couch, content with the world they now gave themselves freedom to explore. 

**SEVEN**

Cas voiced his need for coffee. 

He promised Dean he’d take backroads home, but it’d extend the trip, and the emotional rollercoaster combined with the romp on the couch had drained his energy almost completely. 

When the fireworks ended, they dressed again, cringing at the cooling mess in their underwear. 

“I should just go commando,” Dean mumbled, pulling out the waistband of his pants to look down, frowning. 

Cas rolled his eyes and turned, bringing the suspenders back up, “Where are you going to put them? Did you bring a purse?”

“Weak argument,” Dean responded, letting the waistband go and smirked, “I could just throw them out. Just say you don’t want to get massively turned on again and blow me in your rental car.”

Cas turned to hide his smile. He didn’t want to do that, yet. Tonight was a precursor for what he had planned. He went back to the thought of wanting their proper time, seeing each other completely vulnerable for the first time, to be on familiar territory. Dean zipped up without another comment, and Cas knew they were still on the same page. 

Neither one of them decided to fully put every article of clothing back on, knowing the crowd would have died down by the time they got back, and not intending to stay any longer than it took Dean to say goodbye to Sam and Eileen.

Cas walked down the hall with his bowtie still undone, hanging around his neck and his jacket over his shoulder. Dean had rebuttoned his waistcoat and straightened his tie, but also kept his jacket off. They both had residual heat simmering in them and wanted to cool off; the energy between them still crackled with excitement. 

The party did thin out by the time they walked back, and Sam and Eileen were easy to spot. The band played a lazy, after-party tune and people mingled about, finishing their drinks among the lights. 

It took them only a short time to say goodbye to Sam and Eileen, both of them knowing exactly why Cas and Dean had slipped away, and not wanting to cut into that glow. 

Dean and Sam made a promise to meet up within the next couple of months, not letting five years slip away from them again. Cas had planned to bring up that he could fund the trips, making the decision several days prior, but Sam had him beat:

“I’ll be able to afford it now, I think,” Sam had said, looking proud of himself, “Schmoozed some people, shook some hands--the works. Someone gave me his card too.” 

As they watched Eileen and Sam leave, Dean bumped his shoulder into Cas’s.

“What was your first decision?” he asked.

Cas frowned, “What?” 

He turned to face Dean and immediately bit the inside of his cheek to keep his mouth shut. The man did look great in golden light, especially in a post-coitus state, but Cas wondered if he should inform Dean that he stood in front of his brother with messed up sex hair and a blush still on his face, all accompanied by a dark mark on the right side of his neck, barely obscured by his collar. 

“You said the car wasn’t your first major decision of the new year,” Dean repeated Cas’s words from before, “What was your first one?” 

Cas smiled and took Dean’s hand, looking down at it. It had only taken them a short amount of time to get to where they were now after months of dancing around each other. Cas could hardly believe it was the same week, not realizing when he asked Dean out for Christmas Eve that it’d all tumble into this. 

They weren’t rushing, they weren’t hiding anything--they set their own pace, and they knew each other a little more now, and it would be a little more the following day, and then the next day, and the next-- 

The image of Dean waking up next to Cas on some future sunny morning, hair still messed, face still flushed, caused some embers to reawaken. 

Cas had decided as the first firework popped and the clock ticked over to midnight, that he wanted to revisit that gazebo one day with a ring in hand and a hope for the future. 

But he couldn’t say that, not right now. 

“I decided that I’m going to keep my word and pin you to my bed and screw you senseless until your legs are so numb, you can’t walk,” Cas said instead, keeping his eyes down at their hands, knowing if he looked up to see that _look_ , they’d just wind up back in the office again.

Dean laughed and squeezed their hands, moving closer. 

“And a happy New Year to us,” he whispered in response before drawing Cas into another kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 3 NOTES: 
> 
> Hello there! 
> 
> This is the final chapter for this fic, and I'm so grateful for all of you who followed these two idiots on their little journey. 
> 
> I didn't intend for this fic to have two additional chapters, but muses popped up! I major thank you to [quiettewandering](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiettewandering/pseuds/quiettewandering) for the initial prompt, [MittenWraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith)  
> for the additional questions, and [Winchester-Reload](https://winchester-reload.tumblr.com/post/187718243750/art-for-my-patreon-commission-winner)  
> for inspiration for the end of this fic with her beautiful artwork! ([artwork originally done for this fic by FeaRauko! ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19842631/chapters/46986712)) 
> 
> Another major thank you to [KelpietheThundergod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod) for betaing even during the holidays (and help with the final line!). I am immensely grateful for your help! <3333 
> 
> The picture is by Kristian Lovstad on Unsplash.
> 
> Again, thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> I wish you all a Happy New Year! Here's to 2020!
> 
> -Jen | wigglebox


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